#this feels like it's maybe all over the place but

[hoshifighting]

— Synopsis: Where you “unfortunately” caught your best friend's roomate—your unsaid enemy—masturbating in their shared apartment. — WC: 4.6k — WARNINGS: smut, monster cock!seungcheol, explicit language and content, overstimulation, dry fucking, oral as a tongue massage (f. receiving)—a reward <3, body fluids (cum), dry humping, cock riding, dumbfication, degradation, aftercare, exhaustion, and DIRTY TALK.

here’s how it always goes with seungcheol:

you walk into a room, he immediately finds something to scoff at. maybe it’s the way you dress, maybe it’s the way you talk, maybe it’s just the fact that you exist in his general vicinity. but it doesn’t matter what you do—he hates you. or, at the very least, that’s what he insists on showing you.

joshua, your best friend and possibly the only person in the world who can tolerate both of you without losing his mind, always tells you to be the bigger person. “he’s not that bad,” he says, as if seungcheol didn’t practically hiss at you last week for sitting on his side of the couch.

but whatever. you don’t go out of your way to piss him off, and he doesn’t go out of his way to be nice. that’s just the way it is.

which is why you hesitate when joshua calls you:

“i swear, i wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. i left my keys at your place before i flew out, remember?”

“okay, but i literally don’t want to step foot in his apartment,” you stress, cringing at the thought.

“it’s my apartment, too,” joshua deadpans.

you groan, already feeling a headache coming on.

“just go in, grab the folder on my desk, and leave,” he insists. “cheol probably won’t even be home.”

which is how you find yourself standing outside their apartment door, holding joshua’s keys and hyping yourself up like you’re about to enter enemy territory. which, in a way, you are.

you unlock the door, push it open,

and immediately wish you hadn’t.

seungcheol. on the couch. fisting his cock.

your brain short-circuits. like, full shutdown, blue screen, cease all functioning mode.

the man is spread out—legs wide, head tipped back, theres a drop of sweat that drips from his neck aand land in the middle of his chest. hes exposing his toned abs that clench with every up and down of his hand. and his cock is huge. thick from the base to the top and flushed deep red at the tip, veins prominent as his fist works over it.

he’s so lost in it that he doesn’t even register your presence at first, not until he finally cracks his eyes open and sees you standing there, frozen stunned into silence.

the next few seconds happen in slow motion.

his eyes widen. his entire body stiffens. his hand stops.

“WHAT THE FUCK—”

seungcheol scrambles to cover himself, reaching for the nearest thing—which, unfortunately for him, is a shirt that does nothing to hide the absolute tent he’s pitching. his face goes red, splotchy from the neck up, and he looks so flustered that for a split second, you almost feel bad.

“why the fuck are you here?!” he practically barks at you, voice ragged from whatever the fuck he was doing before you ruined his life.

you blink, still processing the image that’s now burned into your brain for eternity. “uh. joshua?”

“what about joshua?!”

“he… he needed a document.”

seungcheol lets out a sound that is so frustrated, so exasperated, that it almost doesn’t register as human. “and you didn’t think to knock?!”

“why would i knock?! i didn’t think anyone would be jerking off in the living room like a fucking pervert—”

“IT’S MY APARTMENT.”

“IT’S JOSHUA’S TOO.”

“HE’S NOT HERE.”

“WELL, NEITHER AM I, NOW.” you turn on your heel, hand reaching for the doorknob. “i’ll just get the doc later—”

but before you can escape, he rasps, “don’t you dare tell joshua about this.”

you pause. smirk. oh, this is fun.

back still facing him, fingers still wrapped around the doorknob. you should leave. should pretend none of this ever happened. but something—some sick, wrong part of you—doesn’t want to.

so you turn. lean back against the door. cross your arms.

“what?” he snaps, shifting on the couch, the shirt still pitifully draped over his lap.

you tilt your head, dragging your gaze slowly down his body—his hard nipples, the taut muscles in his arms, the way his thighs tense like he’s fighting the urge to close them. you can see the way he twitches under the shirt.

“you’re still hard,” you note, your voice syrupy sweet, but your eyes gleam meanly.

seungcheol tenses. “so?”

“so… you’re mad at me for walking in,” you say, cocking a brow, “but you’re still hard as fuck.”

he grits his teeth, but his silence is loud as hell.

so you take a step forward. just one.

his breath hitches.

“cheol.” you coo at him. “you sure you hate me?”

he glares, but it’s weaker now, faltering under your scrutiny. you can see it—the slight tremor in his fingers, the way his pulse jumps in his throat, the way he’s not telling you to stop.

so you take another step.

and another.

until you’re standing right in front of him, the shirt the only barrier between his cock and your eyes.

his jaw tightens. “don’t.”

“don’t what?” you murmur, reaching forward to trace your fingers over his wrist—the one that was just wrapped around his cock. “don’t call you out? don’t get closer? don’t—”

in a flash, he grabs your wrist, yanking you down.

you gasp as you land on his lap, his hands firm on your hips, his cock pressing against your ass through the thin barrier of the shirt and your clothes.

his lips are right by your ear when he growls, “don’t fucking test me.”

you shiver, but you’re not scared, you’re thrilled.

so you shift, pressing back against him, and smirk when he lets out a sharp breath through his nose.

“or what?” you whisper.

his grip tightens. “you really wanna find out?”

your fingers curl into his hair, tugging just enough to make him hiss.

“yeah,” you breathe, lips brushing his jaw. “i do.”

he snaps.

the shirt under you is gone.

his mouth crashes into yours, hot and angry, his hands gripping your waist like he’s trying to burn the shape of you into his palms. his teeth nip at your bottom lip, his tongue prying your mouth open, swallowing the gasp you let out when his fingers dig into your hips.

you grind down, moaning into his mouth when you feel just how fucking thick he is, leaking against your skirt. 

his hands are rough when he yanks your skirt up, bunching the fabric around your waist with no intention of letting it fall back down. you barely have a second to breathe before his fingers push past your thighs, finding the front of your panties hooking his thumb into the damp fabric and pulling it to the side.

the rush of cold air makes you gasp, thighs trying to snap shut, but his thighs pins them open. and maybe, he has a shred of decency in him, because he lets out a low breath and murmurs, “this is gonna be rough.”

no warning. just that.

you should stop him. you should tell him to go slow, to prep you, to at least spit on it—but you don’t, you need to feel this big cock stretching you until every single thought inside your head gets completely erased.

there’s no lube, no prep besides the mess between your thighs, just the torturous process of sinking down.

seungcheol watches all of it. watches the way your lips part, how your lashes flutter, how your nails dig into the skin of his shoulders the lower you go. he’s leaning back against the couch, one hand gripping the plush of your ass, the other wrapped around his base, guiding you onto him like you’re something delicate. like he’s trying to help.

but he’s not.

because he knows what he’s doing when he taps his cockhead against your clit first, dragging the tip through your slick, coaxing out little whimpers that make him smirk. he knows what he’s doing when he presses up, just the tip slipping inside, barely enough to be satisfying but more than enough to make your thighs twitch.

your breath catches in your throat, your whole body twitching up as you take the next inch too fast. your brain is empty, your body is working on instinct, thighs shaking as you brace yourself against him, trying—failing—to push down further.

and he sees it. sees how you’re struggling, sees how your muscles twitch like you’re about to give out, sees how you want to take it but your body is fighting the stretch.

so he helps.

his hands clamp down on your waist.

and then he slams you down.

the sound that leaves your throat is so ruined that he cant help but feel a bit of compassion.

because suddenly you’re full. suddenly you’re sitting completely in his lap, completely engulfed in him, your thighs flush against his, his cock buried so fucking deep that you can feel it pressing up against every nerve inside you.

but when you try to move, try to lift yourself even an inch—nothing.

your thighs won’t cooperate. your muscles won’t listen.

you can’t move.

“oh?” seungcheol tilts his head, smug grin curling at his lips as he grinds up, watching the way your mouth falls open at the sensation.

“too big for you, baby?”

you whimper.

“thought so.”

and then he takes control, because you can’t move—so he does it for you. his hands lift you effortlessly, dragging your hips up before slamming you back down, setting the pace, forcing your body to take what it’s given.

and you can’t think straight anymore. every thrust knocks the air from your lungs, every time he slams you down it punches little whimpers from your throat that only make him hungrier.

“awww… thought you were so tough. but you can’t even fuck yourself on my cock, huh?”

you cry out, body giving up, melting against his chest as you desperately try to follow his rhythm, hips twitching with little, pathetic attempts to keep up. your body isn’t even yours anymore—just a toy, something for seungcheol to use, something he’s breaking in with every brutal roll of his hips. 

his fingers dig into your waist, gripping you so tight it hurts, but the pleasure drowns it out. you’re so deep into it, into him, that every ounce of shame has left your body, every shred of dignity gone. because you can’t do anything but take it, can’t do anything but let him use you like you were made for this.

he tilts his head, watching you fall apart, watching how your thighs tremble with every slap of his hips against yours.

“damn,” he laughs, licking his lips, voice mocking. “you’re making such a fucking mess of yourself.”

you whimper, forehead pressing against his collarbone.

and then he grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“mm-mm, don’t hide now,” he says, smirking. “be a good girl and let me see that dumb little face while i ruin you.”

a sob rips from your throat, high-pitched and wrecked.

he groans, grinding up into you.

“fuck. bet the neighbors can hear you, huh? joshua’s gonna be so fucking embarrassed when he gets a noise complaint for his dumb little best friend getting dicked down like a whore.”

your whole body jerks, a whimper escaping your lips at the humiliation, the filth dripping from his tongue.

and he sees it.

his grin turns cruel.

“oh, you like that?” he taunts, thrusting up so deep your back arches. “you like knowing that you’re loud enough to make it everyone’s fucking problem? that you’re such a good little fucktoy for me that i can’t even keep you quiet?”

you nod, because you can’t lie. his fingers tighten around your jaw, his lips brushing against yours as he coos.

“poor little thing.”

he thrusts up again, so hard, so deep that your whole body bounces, hands scrambling against his chest, voice cracking in a choked-out sob.

and he moans, deep and satisfied, because you’re so fucking perfect for him. because your body is his to use, to mold, to ruin.

“joshua’s gonna kill me c-cheol.”

his hips snap up again, knocking the breath from your lungs.

“but you’ll tell him it was worth it, won’t you, baby?”

he smooths one over your back, pressing down so your tits rub against his burning skin, while the other stays firm on your hip, keeping you still. your body jerks with every pulse of his cock inside you, twitching as you flutter around him, so overstimulated you can’t tell where the pleasure starts or ends.

“s-seungcheol—” his name is nothing but a broken cry, muffled against his neck, but he’s relentless. he doesn’t even let you finish, just shifts his knees slightly and thrusts up into you with all the power in his core.

“fuck,” he hisses when you clamp down, crying out into his skin, and he wraps an arm fully around you to hold you up. “shh, baby, you’re being so loud.”

his hand snakes up your back, fingers tangling into your hair, forcing you to lift your head. you meet his gaze, and it knocks the breath from your lungs. he looks fucked, mouth parted, sweat dripping from his hairline, chest heaving, but he still manages to look at you like he’s about to devour you whole.

“c’mon,” he coos, tilting his head, his grip tightening just enough to make your scalp tingle. “tell me it was worth it. tell me how good my cock is.”

he punctuates it with a sharp snap of his hips and you keen, trying to lift yourself, trying to relieve some of the intensity, but your thighs betray you. seungcheol laughs, breathless but smug, and his fingers press bruises into your skin as he maneuvers you like you weigh nothing.

“see? can’t even move, huh? my poor baby,” he murmurs, voice syrupy sweet, his free hand cupping your cheek now. “you’re just gonna sit here and take it like the perfect fucktoy you are.”

heat prickles at your skin at the words, your brain too fogged up to be embarrassed, too fucked out to do anything but let him guide you. he rocks you against him, making sure you feel every inch of him dragging against your walls, rubbing at all the right places, pressing into you deeper than you thought was even possible.

“you take me so well, baby,” he praises, leaning in to press his lips against yours, just enough to tease. “so fuckin’ tight, so warm—fucking heaven.”

his hand slides between your bodies, two fingers finding your swollen, neglected clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles over it. the sensation makes your thighs twitch, your nails dig into his back, a fresh wave of tears pooling at the corners of your eyes.

“shhh, i got you, baby,” he whispers, kissing your jaw now, your temple. his fingers on your clit work in time with the slow, torturous grind of his hips. “i got you, yeah? you gonna cum for me? hm?”

he kisses you full on the mouth when you sob, swallowing the sound like he wants to keep it forever. and then he speeds up just a little, rolling your clit with more pressure, meeting every rut of your hips with a firm thrust up.

you shatter.

your whole body seizes, a strangled moan tearing from your throat as you clamp down so tight on him that it sends him tumbling over the edge with you. he groans, long and low, holding you so tight against him that you can feel every pulse of his cum inside you, hot and deep. his hips jerk once, twice more before he stills, forehead pressed against yours as you both gasp for air.

it’s quiet for a moment, the only sounds are the distant hum of the city outside the window, and the soft squelch when he finally shifts, making you both moan.

your body trembles like a leaf caught in the wind, and seungcheol drinks it in, the heat of your overstimulated form twitching against his chest as he presses slow, lingering kisses into the curve of your neck. his lips move down, sucking at the pulse point that hammers beneath your skin. your breath stutters. his fingers, nails just barely grazing, trail down the arch of your spine, featherlight but enough to make you shiver. you barely even realize you’re moving, the last bit of strength in your boneless limbs used to weakly push yourself up, to let his cock slip free from where it’s buried inside you. 

the second it leaves you, your body gives out. you collapse right into his chest, heavier than before, spent and trembling, the exhaustion hitting all at once. you can’t even pretend to be embarrassed about it. you just sigh, your lips brushing the base of his throat as you settle against him, body limp.

seungcheol holds you steady with both hands, like he’s afraid you might melt right into the couch and disappear. his broad palm cradles the back of your head, fingers splaying across your scalp, scratching at your roots. he keeps the other hand wrapped around your waist, thumb stroking absentmindedly against your ribs. the tension in his body hasn’t left yet. his shoulders are still tight. you know him well enough to know what’s coming before he even says it.

“you good?” 

you hum in response, nuzzling into his chest as your fingers curl weakly against his pecs. “just a little sore.”

he exhales through his nose. shifts beneath you. you can feel his fingers flex where they rest on your waist, like he wants to squeeze but holds himself back. then, with zero effort, he grips the back of your neck and lifts you up, just enough to force you to look at him. your lids are heavy, half-lidded, dazed, and fuck, that shouldn’t make him feel so possessive, but it does.

his thumb sweeps across your cheek, his jaw tensing. “shit. i’m sorry,” he murmurs, eyes scanning over your features like he’s searching for anything more than just exhaustion. “lemme take care of you, hm?”

you don’t have it in you to resist, don’t even want to. you let him move you, let him handle you like you weigh nothing as he lifts you from his lap and shifts you onto the couch, laying you down as if you’re something delicate. and maybe you are, now, after the way he ruined you. maybe that’s why you don’t fight him when he presses your thighs apart, watching as they just fall open on their own, spread wide like a doll.

you don’t have the strength to do much else than whimper softly as his thumbs spread you further, gaze locked onto your swollen cunt, still so slick from where he fucked you. his jaw clenches.

you don’t even get a warning before he moves in, before his hands grip your thighs to keep them open as he dives between them, mouth sealing over your clit in one slow stroke of his tongue.

you jolt, a weak little gasp punching from your lungs. your fingers barely find the energy to tangle into his hair, and the grip is nowhere near as firm as it usually is, but he groans anyway. whether it’s from the feeling of your grip or from the way you instantly react to him, you don’t know. but he doesn’t stop.

his tongue moves slow, warm and so fucking wet as he licks broad, flat strokes over your sensitive flesh, working you open again with patience. he isn’t trying to overstimulate, isn’t trying to get you off again—though you can already tell it wouldn’t take much. his focus is entirely on easing the ache, on massaging every tender inch of you with his mouth, his lips, his tongue.

“feels good?” his voice is muffled against you, but it vibrates in just the right way.

you nod, breath hitching when he sucks your clit into his mouth, tongue rolling it in slow circles. your body twitches, heat curling at the base of your spine. “cheol…”

he moans against you, and presses you down harder against his face. your hips jump, an embarrassing whimper breaking free as his tongue dips lower, tracing around your entrance before dragging back up, collecting every bit of slick along the way.

you whine, fingers curling tighter in his hair. he doesn’t tease. doesn’t prolong it. just keeps his pace slow and steady, gentle enough to soothe, firm enough to keep you on the edge of something, even if you’re too sensitive to chase it. and if the way he’s grinding his hips into the couch tells you anything—it’s that he’s just as affected as you are.

he’s not eating you out to get himself off, but fuck if it isn’t working.

the obscene sounds of his mouth working between your thighs filling the entire apartment, mixing in with your breathless moans and the way he groans right into your cunt. you don’t even have it in you to be embarrassed about the way your cum is smeared all over his chin, his jaw, his cheeks—how it drips down onto the couch below with every intentional roll of his tongue against your entrance.

his tongue works in circles, pressing flat to your hole before dragging up again, tasting every bit of your arousal as it gushes out onto his lips. his mouth is open the entire time, tongue rolling and flicking, nose nudging against your clit as he angles his head lower. he flattens his tongue, groaning as he drags it up through your folds before plunging it into you, so messy that you swear you see white behind your eyelids.

your back arches, chest rising in sharp, hiccupped gasps, every single nerve in your body on flames. your thighs twitch in his grasp, and he squeezes them tighter, keeping you spread open just for him. his hands slide up, one wrapping firmly around your waist, keeping you pinned in place, while the other travels up, up—his fingers finding the stiff peaks of your nipples.

your eyes snap open, a gasp catching in your throat as he rolls one between his fingertips, twisting just enough to make your eyes roll. you swear you hear him chuckle against you, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

“breathe,” he murmurs, lips brushing against your clit before sucking it between his teeth, tongue rolling in lazy, teasing circles on the swollen bud. “breathe for me, baby.”

you try. you really do. but the way his mouth moves, the way his fingers tweak and pull, it’s too much. you’re spiraling. you feel another orgasm creeping up so fast it steals the air right out of your lungs.

he sees it. he knows.

his grip tightens on your thigh, his tongue flicking faster, working you open as his free hand continues to play with your tits, kneading the soft flesh, fingers rolling your nipples in rhythm with the lazy grind of his tongue against your clit.

your moans turn high-pitched, desperate. your body twists beneath him, unable to keep still as the pleasure builds, climbing higher and higher.

but then—a whimper.

not from you.

from him.

you force your heavy lids open, head lolling to the side as you try to focus on him. and fuck, the sight that greets you is almost enough to make you cum then and there.

seungcheol is rutting against the couch. grinding, fucking humping it like a damn dog, his hips rolling in slow thrusts, his rock-hard cock straining against his stomach, smearing precum all over his abs and the fabric beneath him.

he whimpers again, this time louder, his brows furrowed, his breath coming in short, uneven pants.

“fuck,” he groans, mouth still pressed against you, voice muffled by the way his tongue keeps working you over. he pulls back just enough to speak, his lips glistening, his chin soaked. his eyes are dark, glassy, pupils blown wide as he looks up at you. “can’t—fuck, i can’t stop. you taste too good.”

your chest tightens, a desperate, aching cry slipping from your lips as you clutch at his hair, thighs twitching in his grasp. “cheol—gonna—gonna cum, oh my god—”

he moans, actually fucking moans, his hips grinding down harder against the couch as he redoubles his efforts, tongue circling your clit in precise, teasing flicks, his fingers pinching your nipples just hard enough to send you over the edge.

your body locks up. your back arches. your mouth falls open, a silent scream tearing from your throat as your orgasm crashes over you, all-consuming.

seungcheol doesn’t stop. doesn’t slow down. he works you through it like it’s his mission, licking you clean, his tongue rolling over your entrance, collecting every last drop as your body trembles violently beneath him.

your chest heaves, your vision blurring, but even through the haze, you can feel him still grinding against the couch, still so fucking hard and desperate, all because of you.

your brain is slow. dial-up connection slow. everything feels like it’s underwater, your body floating somewhere between consciousness and the best orgasm-induced coma of your life. it’s warm, so warm, like your body is still riding out the fever of your high, tongue pressed against the roof of your mouth, throat dry, muscles heavy like they’re full of sand.

you don’t even remember when it happened—when you blacked out, when you got moved. just flashes of cool wipes dragging over your skin, a damp cloth pressed between your thighs, seungcheol’s hands gentle, careful, murmuring something you were too gone to comprehend. like déjà vu, like something out of a dream.

but you’re awake now. sort of. and you’re in his bed.

the sheets are soft, cool against your fevered skin, and it feels so good that you can’t help the tired, pleased moan that slips past your lips, involuntary, barely conscious.

but it’s enough to make him look at you.

you blink, vision still a little hazy, but yeah, that’s definitely seungcheol, sitting at his desk, dressed in a loose shirt and sweats, hair damp, probably from a shower. there’s a slight smirk on his lips, but his eyes are soft as they sweep over you, taking in the way you’re still half-buried in his sheets, limbs heavy, body relaxed.

then it hits you.

the documents.

joshua.

fuck.

your eyes widen, and you jolt up too fast, regretting it immediately when the soreness between your thighs protests, a sharp ache shooting up your spine. “fuck—”

seungcheol’s already up, one hand pressing to your shoulder, guiding you back down before you can do any more damage. “hey, hey, relax. you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“the—documents,” you mumble, eyes fluttering shut again as the exhaustion creeps back in. “joshua.”

he chuckles, and you open your eyes just in time to see him shaking a small stack of papers in his hand. “yeah, yeah. i got it. sent them over while you were passed out.”

you frown, groggy. “i was supposed to send them.”

“and joshua needs to get used to me handling shit for you,” he says, grinning as he sets the papers down. “besides, he’d probably prefer not to get another noise complaint under his name.”

your face heats up instantly. “oh my god.”

“mhmm,” seungcheol hums, tilting his head. “wanna know how loud you were?”

“no.”

he laughs, reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from your face, thumb tracing your cheek. “then go back to sleep, baby.”

you glare at him. or, at least, you try to. it’s weak, and he knows it, because all it takes is one more stroke of his thumb before your eyes flutter shut again, body sinking further into his bed.

yeah. you can fight him about the joshua thing later. maybe. probably not.

[temporarywelcome]

Sleep - Leon Kennedy

Words: 1.6k

Summary: Leon can't help but crave physical affection from his girlfriend.

CW: language, cold!reader, re4 leon but re2 puppy leon is def lurking, he is a BABYYY, hint of some 2000s toxic masculinity?

_______

Leon was pretty content with his relationship. 

Another agent, but in the FBI. A strong and resourceful woman who didn’t mind him constantly being gone on dangerous missions, considering she was busy with her own. She didn’t mind his closed-off personality because she was probably more closed off than him. 

And she didn’t mind his dry dad jokes. Another plus.

She also never pestered him for his lack of physical affection. He always gave her a kiss when he would first see her and one when they said their goodbyes. A handhold every now and then. But he barely touched her. She barely touched him. 

He was content with that

…Yeah, he was lying. 

Sure, he tried to give off a cold and dark vibe. A demeanor that showed he was not one to be fucked with. But damn, even the baddest bitches need to be held every now and then. 

Sometimes, his girlfriend would stay at his place for the night. The first time it happened, he didn’t dare admit it, but he was excited. Excited to not sleep alone, to sleep next to the woman he claimed his, to feel her warmth in his arms. 

Then, when they laid in bed, she had said a gruff “goodnight”, turned her back to him, and passed out. Not even a kiss. An “I love you”. Nothing.

Did she even love him? 

He questioned that often. Why didn’t she ever kiss him? Touch him? Showed him any affection? Then again, why didn’t he? They both gave each other the bare minimum. But that wasn’t what he wanted. 

Fuck. Even the baddest bitches wanted to feel loved. 

Like right now. He was seated in bed, fiddling with his fingers as she laid curled up next to him. Practically on the edge of the bed, as far away from him as possible. Like he was diseased or something. 

Maybe there was something he was doing wrong. Maybe he wasn’t loving her right. Maybe he didn’t deserve to be touched. Didn’t deserve to feel love. 

But what did he do wrong? What did he do to not deserve a simple fucking hug from his girlfriend? Why couldn’t she initiate a kiss? Hold his hand? Nothing? 

Fuck, stop thinking like that, Kennedy. Be grateful you even have a girlfriend.

And so he laid down, burying his head in the fluffy pillow and shutting his eyes. Back turned to her, like they always slept. Like they didn’t even like each other. He had thought finally getting a girlfriend would make it all better. He wouldn’t feel as lonely and sad. He just wanted to feel wanted. 

So why did the bed feel more cold with someone in it than without? 

Just stop fucking thinking and sleep already. Fucking loser. 

Trying to steady his breathing, he brought the blanket up to his chin, suddenly feeling cold as goosebumps formed on his skin. It was almost fucking spring, for fucks sake. Maybe it was because he had the coldest woman on the planet in his bed that he felt like this. 

Yeah, that’s probably what it was-

Wait.

He couldn’t tell if it was a hallucination or a dream, but he could have sworn he felt arms slowly wrapping around his waist. Felt the bed stir slightly as she scooted closer to him, her chest to his back. What the fuck what the fuck what the-

She was holding him. She was actually fucking holding him. Was he in the fucking Twilight Zone? Yes, he had to be, because there was no way his girlfriend had her arms around him. 

Holy shit. 

Hesitantly, Leon reached down, placing his hands atop hers, feeling… warmth? Feeling something he hasn’t felt in years. Tracing his fingers over her soft skin, her well-manicured nails, feeling her breath on his neck. Fuck, this was just a little touch and he felt so fucking happy. Something so small finally made him feel somewhat wanted. 

Honestly sad. This simple gesture was enough to get him giddy.

Giddy and eager to hold her too, slowly turning in her grip. She moved as well, unconsciously repositioning herself on her back, an arm still lazily keeping him close. With a smile, he wrapped his arms tightly around her. Pressing his face in the spot connecting her neck and shoulder. She smelt so good. 

Look, Leon was a big guy. Broad-shouldered and muscular. However, this was probably the safest he ever felt. In a long fucking time. 

So you can’t judge him for tearing up a bit. A lot. Sniffling against her neck as he held onto her tightly, resisting the urge to cry like a fucking baby.

“Babe?”

Shit. 

He laid limp against her, hoping she’ll somehow assume he was asleep and leave it alone. A dumb thought. As if she couldn’t feel his tears on her skin and hear his ragged breathing. Maybe she’d think he’s just having a nightmare. Yes! This wouldn’t be the first time he had a nightmare-

“Babe,” she repeated gently, and he felt her fingers trail from his spine to his hair, lightly scratching his scalp with her nails, “What’s wrong? I know you’re awake so stop playing,” 

Before he could respond, she tugged at his hair, not enough to hurt, but to get what she so impatiently wanted. His attention, which she had when he finally peeked up at her, stormy blue eyes meeting hers. “Nothing,”

“Bullshit, you’re literally crying,” she rubbed at his scalp again gently, “Did you have a nightmare?” 

“No, I don’t really want to talk about it,” he replied, tapping the pads of his fingers against her hip absentmindedly, “I’m fine,”

“Am I supposed to believe that?” she chuckled softly, lifting his chin up and cupping his cheek, thumb brushing against his cheekbone in a soothing motion, “C’mon, I won’t be able to sleep knowing you’re upset,” He didn’t even know how to respond. Her hot-and-cold personality made it so difficult for him to know what would be considered okay to say. 

“I’m… I’m not upset,” 

Her brow raised in disbelief, “You’re not upset? Am I imagining these tears then?” With her thumb, she swiped one off of his face, “Hm, no. Not imagining anything,” 

“They’re…” he gulped, embarrassed, “...happy tears,” 

“Oh? And what caused these happy tears?” 

He could hear it in her tone already. She was ready to tease the fuck out of him. So with a huff, Leon sat back up, crossing his arms over his toned chest in annoyance. “Nothing,”

“What do you mean nothing?” She sat up as well, tilting her head to the side as she eyed him in curiosity. “Just tell me what’s up already!” 

“You fucking held me!” he broke, burying his face into his hands in embarrassment.

Silence. 

“Ughhhh,” he grumbled, swinging his legs over the bed, ready to leave. Jump out the window and dive proudly to the street and die, maybe. Yes, that sounds like a wonderful idea. 

“Wait!” he then felt her arms go around his shoulders from behind, “Stay!”

And like a dog, he stayed put. Still with the pouty and embarrassed look on his face, staring straight ahead at him at the window he so desperately wanted to jump through. 

“That made you cry?” his girlfriend whispered, head resting on his shoulder, “I was just hugging you from behind…”

He felt a tad bit more pathetic now. “I know. You… you never did that before,” he hesitantly raised a hand to graze her arm, soaking in the physical touch as much as possible. 

“I suppose not,” she hummed, pressing a kiss to his shoulder, “You always seem so closed off. I figured you didn’t want to be touched, which is why I always just let you initiate contact,”

“I…” he bit his lip, trying to form the words in his head before saying them out loud. Trying to describe how he felt without hurting his manhood.

But fuck, yes, even the baddest bitches need to be spooned from time to time. 

“I do want to be touched,” he mumbled out, “You’re my girlfriend. I want you to touch me, I want to touch you. I thought you didn’t want to be touched,” 

“You’re kidding?” she laughed gently, next kiss going to his neck, right on his pulse point, “Literally every night I stay at your place, my arms are around you at some point while we’re sleeping. Can’t help myself,”

That made him shift his body to face her, eyes slightly widened, brows furrowed as he processed his words. This wasn’t the first time? She… did this literally every night she was here? “Really?”

“Mhm,” she nodded, taking his hands in hers, “You know, you could have just told me you wanted some affection, babe.”

“That’s embarrassing…” his eyes darted away again, cheeks flushed red. He could still feel her eyes on him, making his cheeks redden further. 

“So unmanly, isn’t it?” she teased gently.

“Shut up,” 

She giggled, releasing his hands and laying back onto the bed, head resting comfortably on the pillow. Arms opening, she said, “C’mon. It’s late and we both have to be up early!” 

He hesitated. Because, well, he was a dumb ass. Falling asleep cuddled up to his girlfriend like a fucking baby? How fucking embarrassing-

Ugh, sign him the fuck up. 

The hesitation lasted a possible two seconds before he laid next to her, accepting the embrace while snaking his arms around her waist as well. Accepting a little kiss to his forehead and a soft “I love you” that left her lips. 

Handing her an “I love you too” back before getting the best sleep he literally ever had.

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

i think itd be kinda cute if readers mom and bruce had to co parent lowk

like the batfam gets sad watching reader get so excited to go with their mom and so sad to come back to the manor lol

-🍰

So real

Readers love their mom's side of the family more than anything—all their aunts and uncles, some of whom aren't even related to their mom, but who really cares? They're not just friends; they're family. These are some of the people who helped raise them and care for them when their mom had to go abroad for modeling. But the best people to hang out with are their cousins, who are like brothers and sisters. They grew up on the same block with these kids, who were younger or older than them, playing Wii or Smash Bros., or just playing hand games and regular tag. These people are their siblings; they made them feel safe and at home; they made them feel special. They made them who they are today. Having a sleepover at their grandma's place, they were all in the living room giggling and laughing under blankets until their grandma came downstairs and told them to shut up, threatening a belt, which made them laugh even more. They might not have another sleepover for a few weeks.

But the reader hates having to go to the manor. You've just never been ignored this much before. Maybe when you were really little, you were too small for the big kids or too big for the babies, and you surely couldn't hang out with the adults, so you just hung off your grandma. But there's no grandma to help you through this; you're all alone in this big mansion filled with kids. You're all alone; they're older than you, smarter than you, stronger, faster—they're just better in every way, and you're just you. Not to mention that they already have ties tighter than a Boy Scout knot, so who are you to intrude on their fun? You never were invited to begin with, and when you were invited, it was out of pity. So you sit there as they talk over you, acting so playful with one another, while you're just there like a small crack in the wall, begging to be filled with something—love, attention, anything, really. So you leave the room to let them have their fun, and now, all of a sudden, you're selfish and rude. "Really, they were begging for us to hang out with them!"They're so spoiled!" They think you can't hear them, but you can. It pushes you to tears, and they're all older than you—not in age, but in the way they act. You're 17, so you act 17, but Tim, who’s the same age as you, acts like he’s 20. They're so mature, and they make you feel so childish. The reader hates, hates, and hates going to Wayne Manor because you're not a Wayne.

[simpjaes]

exhibition ― s. jy

Requested by anonymous via tumblr: cam boy jake. That’s it.Jake is your college roommate and he needs to buy a camera for his online classes. Curiosity gets the better of him, leading to a lot of extra money and, well, finding out that you’ve been a little too curious about what he's doing.  Or the one where your roommate flaunts his secret job at you, not thinking you’d go out and search for him. And definitely not thinking you’d be getting off to him either.

MDNI

WORDCOUNT― 4.9k

PAIRING― cam boy jake x afab reader

CONTENT―  college setting but it’s mosting within the apartment they share, cam boy jake, confused best friend reader, smut WARNINGS― none but brief mention of mommy kink in passing

NOTE―this isn't proof read ;o;

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“Seven hundred.” 

“What?” “That’s how much I made last night,” Jake’s eyes shine brighter and brighter with each word, a crooked smile plastered across his face as he sleepily blinks. “I didn’t even have to do anything weird either.” 

You pause as you sip your morning coffee, wrapped up in a blanket and head pounding at the amount of stress and work you’ve had to get done while he was too busy playing with himself on camera for dozens of people. Or maybe hundreds. Thousands?

“What did you do then?” You raise a brow, not entirely checked in on his boasting this morning, though it is impressive.

Jake always shares how much he makes after each session. What started with fifteen dollars is now reaching seven hundred. Surely your best friend isn’t just jerking off, right?

“Well, it was a little weird, but not that bad.” He avoids the question with a vague answer, suddenly feeling his face heat up. “Just a little here and there, y’know?”

You narrow your eyes instantly. So he does do weird shit for money! You knew it! No way could someone make that much money in such a short span of time by regular jerking off. 

“Just a little what?” You stare him down, now placing your coffee on the table and leaning towards him. He knows better than anyone that you, of all people, can point out if he lies. Meaning, he has to be honest. 

And so, he shrugs, trying to be nonchalant about it. 

“Mommy.” He says it like he’s saying any other word, as if he’s uncaring, as if it was worth the money. “Just had to say it a few times and the money came pouring in.” 

Your eyes narrow at him even more.

“What else?” You question. “There’s no way they’d accept it unless you…”

He raises his brow at you now, tilting his head in cheeky curiosity. 

“Unless I cried? Edged? Let them torture me a little bit?” He smiles. “Yeah, I know.”

You’re a bit shocked, the images of what that must have looked like for his viewers forcing your curiosity to grow. His smug face looking back at you now serves as proof that he very well may be into that kind of thing. Almost like he’s sharing a kink with you, which…is not something the two of you do. 

Despite being roommates, and without any mention of how long you’ve been friends, sex has never been a topic until he started this whole camboy thing. 

You remain calm though. This is Jake you’re talking to. He’s the last person you want to see drooling and cumming all over himself. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Okay so, you’re a liar. 

All day, all fucking day you’ve thought about it. It’s not that you’re into the kink, or even that you’re into Jake. You’re just…curious about how smug he is about it. And yeah, it’s probably just a huge confidence boost to have all sorts of people rubbing one out to you while paying your bills, but still. 

You’re only a liar because that so-called confidence makes him more open about it. More loud. More comfortable. More…horny? 

You can tell by now, weeks after he started. You could never hear a peep from his bedroom, not a single moan or sigh at first. Now though, he’s only gotten louder. You hear the moans, the dirty talk into his camera, the usernames, all of it.

“Thank you–mmf– cumslut2000.” 

God, you hate that you didn’t cringe hearing him say that. It was the moan mid-sentence maybe, or the sultry tone you’ve never heard from him until now. You can’t help but squeeze your legs together with an annoyed groan, practically leaping for your headphones shortly after because, absolutely the fuck not.

Not Jake. It’s too weird. 

And the days pass like that, casual with him as he discusses his pay where you no longer question because now you’d just think too hard about the details. The nights pass like that too, where he’s louder, louder, louder, until you can almost hear him through your muffled videos and playlists. 

Until you are forced to feel the arousal just like the rest of his viewers. You can’t escape the attraction despite wishing, hoping, fucking praying for your head to stop wanting to hear more. 

You know better than anyone though, hoping and praying does nothing for you and the only thing that will help this situation between your legs is seeing. Proving to yourself, so to say, that seeing Jake act like that will feel gross. It will turn you off. It will solidify that Jake is your best friend and your roommate, nothing more. 

It’s easy to find him too. All you had to do was abandon your headphones tonight, waiting for him to introduce himself via username to his stream. 

Doggystyle02.

That’s what he picked? He can’t be fucking serious. 

You’re excited as you google the username, enabling NSFW search and finding him within seconds. Excited to lose the interest that’s driving you up a fucking wall, that is. And before you click into his stream, you inspect.

Yeah, that’s definitely his abs oiled up in his profile picture. You choose to ignore his uh…thing under his sweats, heavy, leaving a little spot on the front of them. 

Oh, 23k followers? And he started two, maybe three months ago? People want Jake that badly? And you just…live here with him? You get to see him daily, and hear him playing all these kinky roles in real life? God, you just know if the viewers knew they’d be saying shit like “If i lived with you, I’d be on that cock every day.”  Blah, blah, blah. 

They don’t know Jake like you know him. He’s just a dude, not some sex god. 

Then…something in your gut stirs. It flips, it bubbles, your face warms up. The comments on his profile asking him all sorts of things, saying all sorts of things and he just…responds? Reciprocates? 

Cumslut2000 comments: god i want you to hold me down and make me take it

Doggystyle02: Don’t sweet talk me like that, you know how I get. 

Oh, does she now? How the fuck would she know anything about Jake. Your best friend. Your roommate. 

DPlover: can we plllleeease do another private show? 

Doggystyle02: book me for later, i’ll even give you a discount <3

Another private show?! A fucking discount?!  

Blushy: im too shy to talk when you’re online but i really, really want you.

Doggystyle02: you wanna talk in private? I’ll message you and bring you right out of that shell. let me take care of you baby

You’re speechless. During his private job, where he doesn’t share his name but he shows his fucking face, he publicly talks to people like this? He’s never so much as looked at you for too long after you’ve gotten out of the shower, yet he wants to take care of a fucking loser ass bitch who is too shy to talk to him? 

Sexually?! 

Safe to say, never in your life did you ever think you’d find yourself jealous of people who get Jake’s attention. To you, he’s always just been, well, Jake. The guy who ran up your apartment stairs on all fours the day you moved in, the boy who constantly did your homework for you in highschool because he knew you wouldn’t graduate with him if he didn’t, the absolute best friend who followed you to the same college, saved you from the dorms by becoming your roommate, and now…somehow, seems…more than just what he was before.

Surely you’re just horny though. Curious, in the mood, whatever. Anyone would be when there’s a porn set just a wall over, right?

You shake your thoughts, knowing you’ll just make yourself sick if you keep reading all of his little public comments and start wondering what he says in private to them. You scroll up instead, glancing at his abs again before your eyes land directly on what you were trying so hard to avoid. 

He’s kind of packing, you can’t lie. If he wasn’t Jake, you’d probably be ogling, rubbing out to him just like everyone else. Hah. You chuckle, shaking your head at your own stupidity, ready for these weird feelings to be eradicated the second you click into his stream. 

Except…jesus fucking christ.

The comments roll in faster than you can read. The money is pouring in, and he’s sitting there on camera with that same dopey grin he gives you every morning. There’s something else with his smile though, a little lip bite, some tongue darting action to wet his lips. Hair falling into his eyes…jesus. 

After a minute or two of staring at your best friend’s face, ignoring the movement of his shoulders attached to the hand that’s…doing something, a pop up covers his image entirely.

SIGN UP OR LOG IN TO CONTINUE WATCHING…

Never in your life have you signed up for something so fast, typing in a string of cute letters and numbers to differentiate yourself in the sea of horny viewers. And then his image is back, and your eyes trail straight down. 

Instantly you choke up, watching the way he uses his hands with that expression on his face. It really is just typical jerking off but…something about it. Something about the way he flicks his own nipples with a seething lip bite, bucking his hips up before shining his pouting eyes into the camera, as if wishing any or all viewers were there to do it for him. And god, the way he looks kind of wet? Like, oiled up or lotion, maybe lubed up, you don’t know. His hips slide that thing through his fist so easily, making squelching sounds all the while. 

That’s…that’s really him. And he’s not even ten feet from your bedroom door looking like this. Yet, you can’t bring yourself to get up and interrupt him.

What would you even do? What would you say? 

So, you just watch, completely forgetting that you were doing this to get rid of the curiosity, not feed into the sexuality of a man you’ve known for so long as nothing more than your closest friend. 

Over a thousand dollars made in just one stream by the time he logs off, and those moans echo in your brain. Hearing them so clearly through your headphones just…wow. And, well, you did your best. 

You swore you’d never get off to the image of Jake after all this curiosity started, it’s just, you can’t help it now. At least he wasn't on your screen, moaning and whimpering for all the faceless people watching. You waited. Your belly burned and your clit throbbed through all of it, and only when he made a mess of himself with that same fucking smile before logging off did you finally give yourself what you needed. 

You don’t know why you did that, and you don’t know why the muffled stream of his shower just down the hallways is what sticks in your head when you finally reach your own orgasm.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“Over a thousand this time.” 

“Oh?” You awkwardly avoid his eye contact, stiffening your shoulders at the mere mention of his stream from last night. 

“Yeah, not sure why they gave me so much this time though…” He trails off briefly, inspecting your posture and sudden defensive stance. “I didn’t even do any of the kinks.”

Well…you know why he made that much. He wouldn’t even need to feed the fetish crowd to make a decent living off of this, not with a face like that, a cock like that. It’s only natural he starts making more and more with each lengthy stream.

“Yeah, that’s weird.” You answer shortly, rummaging through cabinets despite your lunch sitting on the table across from him. 

“Yeah…” He notes the shift, feeling tension in the air. “Are you okay?”

“What? Me?” You ground both feet on the floor now, abandoning the cabinet as you turn towards him and look to the floor. 

You can’t do it. You can’t look at him. 

“I’m perfectly fine, what gives you that idea?” 

You hear him stand from the table, taking his usual Jake-esque strides toward you. Then, he leans forward and tilts his head, chasing your eyes with his own and forcing you to look at him. 

“Well, you haven’t even looked at me all morning,” He smiles, tapping your chin. “Was I too loud or something? Did it make you feel awkward?”

Oh, an out! An excuse!

“No, no, I just –” 

Now, why the fuck did you say no? Why are you looking at him now, stopping mid-sentence entirely stunned because, yep, that’s him alright. You saw him cum. You watched him do it, you listened, and you fucking liked it.

And now you’re looking him in the face, and he’s giving you that same smile, and you’re…oh god.

“I–” 

He tilts his head again, blinking twice before narrowing his eyes. 

“Spit it out. What happened? Jay do something?” 

Your words are caught in your throat, cheeks hot, stomach doing flips…Your eyes glance down without intention, right to his groin and he sees it. He even pulls back a bit, looking surprised before softening his expression. 

“Don’t tell me you–” His voice is softer now too, but he calls out your name. “Why are you being so weird?”

You can tell he doesn’t want to make the assumption, and arguably, you’re bad at hiding things from him. 

“I kind of, like, accidentally saw your stream last night.” You say it so fast, avoiding eye contact again by embarrassingly staring right between his legs. “It feels weird now.”

He laughs. He fucking laughs, but it’s kind of like, a smug laugh? A chuckle? 

“Oh now it’s weird?” He rolls his eyes. “Relax, it’s not weird.” 

“It is though! You’re, well, you! I didn’t need to see that!” 

“Then why’d you watch?” He smirks, reaching a hand out to tilt your chin up at him again. And he’s done this many times in the past. Platonic, lovely little touches from someone who will protect and appreciate you. This though, this is…

“Go on. Tell me. Why is it weird now?” He encourages you to admit it. “Because you liked it?”

You remain silent, unwilling to answer. 

“I grossed you out?” 

“No!” An immediate disagreement there, one that only digs your hole deeper. “I just–didn’t expect that.”

“So you did watch it.” He leans back now, crossing his arms and staring you down. “Did you enjoy yourself?

What is he fucking asking right now? The worst part about this is if you don’t answer, it’s still a fucking answer. But you don’t want to like, lie, because already you couldn’t even make it through a fucking morning with him after seeing it. So, with the smallest voice you have, so small you hope he can’t hear it, you whisper. 

“Yes.”

And if you were to look him in the face right now, you’d have seen that smug look go to curiosity. You’d have seen the split second of his adoration for you merging with a new view, a new feeling, and possibly a new need.

“Wait, did you–?” He even feels a bit shy now, his ears practically on fire as he keeps his eye on you, and the way you curl in on yourself with the admittance. “Did you..touch yourself?”

A small nod, you squeeze your eyes shut. 

Then you hear him hold his breath, taking a step back from you. You’ve touched yourself to him, he can’t believe it. After all these years, never once looking at him like that…not even he looked at you like that but now?

He pictures it. The way you must’ve been in your room all alone, knowing what he’s doing, searching him up, then confirming it for yourself. You liked it. You liked what you saw and you got off to it. 

And now he can’t stop smiling. Proud, he feels proud. 

“Well, don’t feel weird.” He finally says, trying to ease your discomfort. “It’s just…a normal thing. I don’t think you’re weird.”

With that, the conversation dies, fades entirely into awkwardness as you both split off. 

You need space to think.

He needs space to think.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You’re doing it again, as if just this morning you didn’t have to bury yourself 6 feet under right in front of him. 

Neither of you spoke after that. Avoiding each other consistently throughout the day with knowing, growing, and exhausting tension. Yet still, he’s started his stream, and here you are, watching it with a dazed look. 

You don’t know how to feel or what to do. Your head doesn’t anyway, your body knows too well what it wants and needs, and you hate yourself for making it so awkward between the two of you. Why did you tell him? You wonder if he’d be uncomfortable knowing you’re watching again, this time knowing your hand will stray as you watch.

You wonder, and wonder, will he think you’re disrespecting your friendship by doing this not once, but twice? 

Then, you hear him. 

“Can we do some roleplay today?” He speaks out to the chat, cock pressing against his briefs, head tilted with his messy hair in the very computer chair you bought for him. 

Last time, he was sprawled out on his bed, and you wonder if he always starts his streams this way.

“I want you to imagine we live together, and you know I’m in my room fucking myself, begging, needy for anything, anyone to touch me.” He looks into the camera. “Let’s say you’d hear it too. I’m loud on purpose…”

“Tell me what you’d do to me.”

You stare forward blankly, frozen on the spot at his words, then your eyes flick to the chat. 

“You wouldn’t see the front door ever again.” 

“I’d be on you within seconds.”

“You wouldn’t even be able to turn your camera on, just come home and I'd be waiting.”

Oh. 

Jake hums at the responses, whispering them to himself. 

“Ah,” Jake reads a specific comment with a nod. “I’d be an idiot to not jump at the opportunity.”

And the rest of his words become muffled as your ears pop. Is he…talking about you right now? Was he expecting you to watch again? 

“If that ever happens to me, just know I’d be grateful for all of you. Running to help me feel good, you’re all so good to me.” He giggles now. Fucking giggles. “Alright, enough of that.” 

Jake stares into the camera again, and you can’t help it. It feels like he’s staring at you. Straight through your fucking soul at this point. 

“I have a lot of stress to relieve.” He ends on that note, skewing his pants down and making haste. 

He’s not slow or cute with it like he was before. He’s aggressive, almost frustrated. His eyebrows furrow, his lips become red from his biting and chewing, and you watch the money flood in.

The comments blurring past, words of, “Oh fuck,”  and “This is new.” before suddenly, you hear an irritated sigh. A string of curse words pour from his lips, his hand squeezing the base of his cock so tightly, and spurts of cum shooting up his chest, only to drip down slowly. 

“What a waste.” He comments shortly at himself, heaving in a breath before he breaks out into his usual smile. “Sorry to end on such a short note, just thought I’d let you guys join me for a quickie!” 

Then he’s gone, the stream lasting about ten minutes in total. 

And apparently so is your fucking sanity because why is it that now you find yourself getting out of your bed, feeling the wet between your legs drip, and you’re heading for your bedroom door just to get to him? 

Why is he standing right outside, as if he was already waiting for you to open it?

And it’s silent now as you stare at each other. Him, with his sweatpants skewed over his waist, cum still on his chest, breath still uneven. Then you, practically vibrating to get on him. 

“You’re looking at me like you want me to eat you out.” He says, already pushing you right back through your bedroom door, letting you flop back on your bed as he instantly pulls at your shorts. “Want me to kiss you first?”

You feel your head spin the second you flop back and feel your shorts being pulled off, and before you can even comprehend his question, he’s already kissing you. Hot, heated. He sounds just as frustrated as he did just minutes ago getting off by himself. You don’t even mind the cum on his chest, nor the way he spreads your legs with his knee to get more comfortable. 

It’s happening. This is what kissing Jake feels like. This is what everyone wants from him, but it’s you that’s getting it. Has he always been like this? Good at kissing? Firm with his movements? Confident as he kisses down, down, down, giving you what he thinks you want?

You do want it. Perhaps you were looking at him like you wanted him to eat you out, and now he’s doing it. Breathing shortly right against your clit without so much as savoring his view before diving in, tongue instantly licking from your hole straight to your clit and sucking.

He hums around the taste, both hands holding your inner thighs and keeping your legs open. And he just…keeps humming, licking and sucking you so good that you can’t help but cry out and tug at that fucked up mess of hair on his head. 

Jake likes that. He likes the way you hold your breath and the way your legs shake around his ears. He likes even more the way he knew you were watching him tonight, and that you looked like you were coming straight to his room to jump him. 

So strange how quickly things can change, so strange how good his best friend must have tasted all these years, and he had never once considered it. And now, he blinks up at you, seeing the way you close your eyes and breathe through it, like you’re calming yourself down, thinking both too much and not at all. 

Easily he runs his hands up and under your shirt, feeling the soft skin of your belly before gently running his palms over your perked nipples. He continues to stare up, watching you, tasting you, loving this a little more than he ever knew he would. 

He did want you, he does want you. His cock has been aching all day for you since the moment he found out you thought of him. Jake thinks you’d be tight, because lord knows you haven’t gotten laid in a hot minute, and that quick jerk off session was absolutely for you. 

He wants to show off to you, wants you to see him more than anyone else can. Yet, it’s you he’s seeing more of right now and he doesn’t mind that so much. 

His eyes flick back down, allowing his fingertips to toy gently with your nipples as he skews his head, essentially making out with your pussy, slurping the slick you offer and not letting a single bit of it go to waste. Then, he dips in, pointing his tongue right against your pulsing hole and pressing in. 

There’s that tug of his hair again, your legs squeezing around him and your hips bucking up. 

Oh, you like that. 

So, he does it harder and with more focus. He squeezes his eyes shut and prepares to not breathe for a bit, licking as far into you as he can, his nose easily pressing your clit in such a beautiful way that all you can do now is moan.

Genuinely moan for him. His name in a little hiccup followed by a curse. 

Fuck, you’re so hot to him right now. Anyone would be fucking lucky to be in your bed at all, and finally it’s him. As if he’s been waiting for years despite never needing a turn previously. 

And this continues until he can’t breathe, his fingers growing more needy against your tits, his tongue reaching deeply before pulling out and allowing him to take a deep breath that is scented entirely in you. Then, he fucking nuzzles it.

You glance down with a heaved breath, legs shaking as you watch him do it. Eyes closed gently, rubbing his nose and lips against your clit in such a gentle, loving way that it has you melting instantly. 

“Jake–” You whisper in a breath, the first word you’ve said to him since you opened your bedroom door. 

All he does is shoot his gaze to you and continues his nuzzles, uncaring of whatever you need to say if it isn’t you asking him to fuck you right now. And arguable, you have nothing to say anyway. 

You just…needed to say his name. Needed to solidify that you just broke a boundary with him willingly, and he doesn’t care. You don’t care. 

You feel the thumping in your chest, your clit throbbing with each little rub he lends before you sit up slightly on your elbows, balancing yourself before reaching a hand down. 

He leans into your palm on his cheek, like a puppy wanting love. Then his hands leave your chest and find their way to your hips. His doe eyes instantly sharpen, and you’re instantly being pushed back down to your bed.

“Want me to be whatever you want? Let you do whatever you want to me?” He finally says, licking his lips as he makes his way up to hover over you, making sure to lift your shirt enough to expose both of your tits. “Just like I ask?” 

You find yourself nodding before taking it back, shaking your head. 

“I don’t want it to be like that–” You trail off, avoiding his intense gaze and suddenly feeling very vulnerable under him. “I just want you. The Jake I’ve always had.” 

Another shocked look reaches his expression. He’s a bit surprised, assuming that all of this was simply because you watched his stream and didn’t expect to be so turned on. He thought this would be a one and done thing. A “let’s forget this ever happened,” thing.

But you want him? Not the acting? Not the kinks, or the cocky grinning? You want the best friend in him, the part of him that was never sexual, never confident, never willing to approach women. 

He looks at you in question. 

“I don’t know how to be that right now.” He finally says, pressing his hips down and against you with a choked moan. “How can I be that when I want to fuck you so badly?”

You find yourself smiling, running your hands through his hair to get it out of his face before shrugging. 

“When have we ever known what we were doing?” You ask quietly, wincing slightly at how hard he’s gotten, knowing that you’re not having to see him through a screen now. 

That’s all he needed to hear before keeping eye contact and reaching down with one hand. You can’t bare to look down, knowing some sort of embarrassing sound will leave your throat. You decide to feel it instead. 

And goddamn, do you fucking feel it. 

He slides in easily, but the size of him stretches you far past anything you could have imagined. This is him, he’s this big. This is what Jake’s cock feels like and it has your chest caving in over it. 

All you can do is hug him, clinging to him through the stretch and hoping the way your cunt squeezes around him isn’t hurting him. 

“God, fuck.” He says in a quick whisper, arms shaking to hold himself up as you hug him. “You’re so tight, fuck.”

You smile against his messy chest at the compliment, basking in it really before allowing yourself to freely adjust. Your body clenches him tightly, and he remains still through it until he can’t anymore. 

He drops to the bed, flush against you without warning and the moans start pouring from his chest. He can’t stop even if he wanted to, can’t control his hips, his words, his thoughts.

He just lays here flush against you, letting his hips move freely and rapidly. In, out, in, out. So clumsy, so loud, and goddamn does it feel fucking amazing.

You moan alongside him, petting his hair with each thrust, feeling his cheek against your tits move with each drop of his jaw. Even when his moans are silent, you know he feels good and that makes you happy. 

None of those little bitches in his chat could get him like this, surely. He’s not acting right now. He’s Jake.

And that’s what makes it so good, you think. That’s why he has so much cum to put in you, apologizing through it all because the fear of this act comes with the orgasm. Apologizing for fucking you, for cumming in you, for getting off so quickly, promising you that he’ll make you cum too. 

It’s then that you realize, when he’s got his face back down between your legs, sucking his mess out of you…maybe you have feelings now.

And maybe that’s not such a bad thing either. 

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

remember that you can get early access and/or tip me via patreon! love and comments would be appreciated <3<3<3<3

[idestroysociety]

And not only that, but it's being hinted at by the writers that Shauna will overtake the role of Antler Queen anyway during this season. Or will at least be fighting Natalie over it... She would be losing her purpose in the only place she was ever even given one to begin with. Thinking about how the other yellowjackets ignored her during the pilot but she was eventually considered useful to them via the gun—the thing that also initially destroyed a sense of stability and structure for her (family). There is a lot to say about specifically her being the hunter and specifically her taking the role of a teacher/leader. To me, it does feel like the way her father died will be referenced in her relationship to Gen now... somehow. Maybe I'm reaching but the reason Natalie failed to kill her dad the first time was because she had to be taught how to use a gun by him. Her purpose being directly tied into death is, I'd say, also why she's the most visibly suicidal one out of all; death WAS to some extent her purpose, killing animals, people... her suicide attempt being carried out by a gun could be her returning to her purpose. Making herself useful by killing herself with it because her purpose was to kill things with it

like im sorry what do you mean natalie pulled her friends, her people, from starvation and winter into a flourishing community. what do you mean she taught gen to hunt and helped akilah raise animals and built them a garden. what do you mean she led her teammates out of fire and into a beautiful home and tried to help them put their hurt and pain behind them. and then they got rescued and none of that fucking mattered anymore. they got rescued and she lost her purpose. only it wasn't just her purpose as the hunter, it was her purpose as their leader, as their guide, as the one who brought them back from the brink. what the fuck.

[ipushhimback]

Hugs?

pairing: lando norris x reader words: ig around 500? warinings: periods?

summary: you wake up with cramps and your boyfriend comforts you <3

You woke up in the morning feeling like crap. Your whole body was aching and even just the thought about moving just a little made it hurt even more. 

Lando was still softly snoring next to you with his arm wrapped around your waist and his face buried in your neck. You gently moved his arm from your waist as the pain was just intensifying with the pressure. Your boyfriend scrunched his face but didn’t wake up. Luckily.

You didn’t need him to wake up to you being on your period the first time he stayed over at yours. You knew how unbearable you could become when you were in pain and your hormones were all over the place. 

But only a few minutes later you could feel Lando stir next to you as he stretched himself and rubbed his eyes before opening them and looking at you with so much love in them you thought you would melt in a puddle right now.

“Hey, darling. How long have you been awake?”, he asked with a sleepy smile on his face.

“Not long. Maybe ten minutes or so. You slept well?”, you asked as you pressed a kiss to Lando’s lips.

“Yeah. Your bed is comfy. Or maybe I just like having you next to me. You ok? You look a little pale”, Lando said while he furrowed his brow in worry. 

“All good, Lan. Just tired”, you tried to reassure him though you could see that your boyfriend didn’t believe you. 

The next moment you couldn’t pretend to be fine anymore as a sharp wave of pain rolled through you, making you swear under your breath. “Fuck.”

“You are absolutely not ok. Is it your period?”, Lando asked and you just stared at him perplexed. “I have sisters. No pretending here. I did it all. Doing hot water bottles. Going to the store to get chocolate or whatever cravings they had. Buying pads in the middle of the night. Seriously, just be honest. Is it bad?”

You couldn’t help but nod as you felt your eyes well up with tears by how sweet your boyfriend was.

“You want a heating pad? Hot chocolate? Painkillers? Hugs?”, Lando asked again and you nodded while the tears started falling. 

“Oh, baby. No crying, ok?”, Lando said as he wiped the tears from his your cheek. “I’ll be back in a minute”, he continued as he got up.

As promised, he returned only a little later, having a heating pad, painkillers, water, and a cup of hot chocolate in his hands. He placed it all in front of you and sat down next to you, wrapping his arms around you again. You leaned your head on his chest and let yourself just be held.

Lando leaned forward a little and grabbed the painkillers that he then held out to you. 

“Here. They’ll help.” He grabbed that water bottle as well and opened the lid. 

You took a sip and placed the bottle back on the table to swap it with the hot chocolate. 

“I hate seeing you in pain”, Lando said as he kissed the top of your head. 

“Well, I hate being in pain”, you said chuckling a little. “But thanks for being here. For taking care of me. I was scared you might be grossed out”, you admitted.

“Grossed out? Never. You are amazing and I won’t leave over something so small. I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too, Lan.”

a/n: something short bc i am planning to write something else but don’t have any inspiration… also, i think all of us deserve a lando in our life who makes us hot chocolate

tags: @strawberryy-kiwii / @a-distantdreamer / @requiemforthepoets / @martygraciesversion381 / @l-vroom4 / @comicalivy / @sid-is-gr8 / @picklesbuddy93 / @sadiemack9 / @f1fantasys / @cloud-55 / @sunny44 / @widow-cevans / @gigicisneros / @mbioooo0000 / @sinfully-yoursss / @bravo-delta-eccho / @rue-t / @mayax2o07 / @alexanderachillesisgay / @maviesamour / @suhchenjun / @pippyth3hippy / @sweate-r-weathe-r / @joannaln4 / @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy / @aleatorio1234 

[lov3yv4mps]

Hii!! Can you please do a period comfort with skz? Please and thank you!!!

Yes of course anon!!

‧ ୨ period comfort with skz ୧ ‧

SUMMARY: How stray kids members comfort you during your period

Pairings: stray kids x fem!reader (separately)

Warnings: just fluff!!

v4mps note: I tried to make these as accurate as possible, but this is my opinion! If it doesn't suit your opinion, I apologize :(

‧ ୨ bangchan ୧ ‧

This man is always prepared—like always. And when I say prepared, I mean he probably has a whole app on his phone just to track your cycle, complete with notifications so he knows exactly when to stock up on your favorite snacks, grab extra pads or tampons, and make sure the heating pad is ready to go. He loves seeing the happy smile when you notice his attention and care for you.

The second he notices it's that time of the month, he’s already one step ahead—texting you things like, “I got your favorite chocolate, baby. You want anything else?” Or maybe he just shows up with a little care package because he knows what you need before you even have to ask.

And when the cramps hit? Oh, he's on it. He’s tucking you into his arms, rubbing soothing circles on your stomach, whispering, “I got you, love. No stupid cramps are gonna hurt my baby.” If you need him to, he’ll even warm up your heating pad and hold it against your tummy himself—because no pain is touching his love on his watch.

If he finds you crying over the smallest things—like your eyeliner not matching or your hair not cooperating—Chan’s heart immediately softens. He kneels in front of you, gently wiping your tears with his thumbs. “Baby, don’t cry over this,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead. With a small smile, he tilts his head. “Want me to fix it, or should we just cuddle instead?”

-♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎-

‧ ୨ leeknow ୧ ‧

Lee Know notices before you even say anything. The slight wince, the way you press a hand to your stomach—he’s already on it. Without a word, he disappears and comes back with your heating pad, plugging it in and placing it on your lap. “You should’ve said something,” he mutters, but his touch is gentle as he tucks a blanket around you. He won’t make a big deal out of it, but he’ll make sure you have everything you need.

He acts nonchalant about it, but you know he’s paying attention. If you complain about cramps, he’ll scoff lightly. “Well, I can’t do anything about that.” But five minutes later, he’s sliding a cup of warm tea in front of you, pretending it’s no big deal. If you thank him, he just shrugs. “I just didn’t want to hear you complain later.” (But the way he subtly checks on you every few minutes totally gives him away.)

If he sees you getting emotional, he’s quick to shift your focus. He’ll plop down next to you, phone in hand, and start showing you cute cat videos like it’s urgent. “Look at this one. This is literally you.” If that doesn’t work, he’ll poke your cheek until you glare at him. “There she is. Thought I lost you for a second.” Anything to keep your mind off the discomfort.

Lee Know isn’t always the biggest on PDA, but when you’re in pain? He’s all yours. He lets you stretch out on the couch, head resting on his lap as he absentmindedly strokes your hair. “Just sleep,” he murmurs, his fingers moving soothingly against your scalp. He won’t say it outright, but the way he lets you cling to him, the way he adjusts so you’re comfortable? Yeah, he’s not letting you go until you feel better.

-♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎-

‧ ୨ changbin ୧ ‧

The moment Changbin hears you groan in pain, he’s on high alert. He rushes to your side, eyes full of concern. “Where does it hurt? What do you need? Say the word, and I got you.” He won’t rest until he’s sure you’re comfortable, tucking a blanket around you and making sure you have everything—snacks, water, even his hoodie if you want it.

If you’re feeling sluggish and mopey, he’s not letting you sink into the sadness. “C’mon, let’s go for a short walk, just to get some air.” If you refuse, he flops onto the couch next to you dramatically. “Fine, but at least let’s stretch a little.” He just wants to help you feel better, even if it means sitting there massaging your legs while making goofy faces.

He hates seeing you uncomfortable, so he’ll do anything to take your mind off the pain. He’ll put on a funny movie, tell you random stories, or even offer to do your skincare routine for you. “I’ve seen you do it a million times. How hard can it be?” (Spoiler: He gets way too into it, and you end up laughing at his concentrated expression.)

The second you lay down, Changbin immediately becomes your human pillow. He lets you rest on his chest, his arms wrapped securely around you. “You’re stuck with me now,” he teases, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. His warmth, his scent, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat—it’s all so comforting, you end up falling asleep in his arms, safe and loved.

-♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎-

‧ ୨ hyunjin ୧ ‧

If Hyunjin notices you're feeling off, he’ll instantly become the calm presence you need. He won’t rush to ask you a million questions, but he’ll quietly observe, sensing the shift in your mood. “You okay?” he’ll ask softly, his tone calm and gentle. Without making a fuss, he’ll grab your favorite blanket and wrap it around you, sitting close by, just quietly being there with you. Sometimes, he’ll rest his head on yours, offering his comfort through his presence alone.

When you’re feeling down or drained, Hyunjin knows that sometimes the best thing is a little peace and quiet. He’ll sit next to you, not demanding anything, just offering a steady, calming energy. He might gently stroke your arm or hair, his soft touch making you feel grounded. “I’m here, you don’t need to talk,” he’ll whisper, letting you know that just being near him is enough to help you relax.

Hyunjin has a way of bringing a calm vibe even in the quietest moments. If you’re feeling uncomfortable, he’ll quietly pull you into his arms, letting you rest your head on his chest. He’ll hum a soft tune, his voice low and soothing, creating a peaceful atmosphere that helps take your mind off any discomfort. “Just breathe, everything will be okay,” he’ll murmur, as you close your eyes, feeling safe in his embrace.

Even when he’s being calm and gentle, Hyunjin’s attention to you never wavers. If you mention cramps or feeling off, he’ll quietly get up to make you tea or get your favorite snacks, all without making it a big deal. When he returns, he’ll simply hand them to you with a small smile, his voice quiet but filled with care. “Here you go. Take it easy for now, okay?” His soft, caring nature always shines through in the simplest moments.

-♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎-

‧ ୨ han ୧ ‧

When Han notices you're feeling off, he’s the perfect mix of dramatic and calm. He’ll dramatically gasp and clutch his chest, “Noooo, not my baby,” but his soft, concerned gaze tells you he’s genuinely worried. He'll immediately get to work, grabbing your favorite snacks or a cozy blanket, all while maintaining that cool, quiet energy. “You’re gonna be okay. I’m here,” he’ll reassure you, his voice calm but carrying an undertone of sincerity that makes you feel safe.

If you're feeling overwhelmed, Han’s playfully dramatic side will come out to distract you. He’ll dramatically flop onto the couch beside you, letting out a huge sigh as if the whole world is crashing down. “The pain, the agony... I can’t bear to watch you suffer,” he’ll say, trying not to laugh as he gives you a playful look. He knows it’ll lighten your mood, and he’ll gently coax a smile out of you without being too much.

Though he’s playful, Han knows when to keep things quiet. He’ll sit next to you, quietly rubbing your back or running his fingers through your hair, his touch soft and steady. He won’t force conversation, just giving you the space to relax while still showing you that he’s there. “I’m right here… just rest, okay?” His calm, comforting presence wraps around you like a warm hug.

When you need comfort, Han’s sweetness comes out in the softest ways. He’ll pull you into his lap, his arms wrapped around you as he murmurs softly. “It’s okay, baby. Just sleep... I’ve got you.” He’s quiet, but his gentle touches and soothing words make you feel like everything’s going to be okay, even when the world feels like it’s spinning.

-♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎-

‧ ୨ felix ୧ ‧

Felix, being the sunshine he is, will first make sure you're absolutely comfortable. He’ll tiptoe around the room quietly, making sure to dim the lights, as he knows a soft atmosphere helps you feel better. He’ll gently ask, “Do you want me to play your favorite playlist? I know the soft songs help when you’re not feeling well.” He’ll make you feel like a priority, always quietly moving to cater to your needs without making you feel like a burden.

When you're feeling down, Felix has a very nurturing side that shines. He won’t just offer a quick solution; he’ll really dive into the comfort routine. “How about a warm bath? I’ll make it nice and relaxing, and we can watch a show after,” he’ll suggest with a gentle smile. He’s meticulous about the little things, running the bath at the perfect temperature, lighting a candle, and making sure the towels are soft and ready when you’re done. It’s all about making sure you feel pampered.

Felix might be the type to prepare a surprise snack for you, but in a subtle way. He won’t make a big deal out of it; he’ll just quietly come back with your favorite treat and a cup of tea, setting it beside you with a soft grin. “I thought you might need a little something,” he’ll say, offering the snack with a sense of quiet joy. He doesn’t need praise for it, he just loves to see you taken care of and happy, even in the smallest ways.

If you're feeling really bad, Felix will make sure you're completely relaxed in his presence. He won’t try to push you to talk, but rather let you know that he’s here for you. He might offer to play a gentle game or even suggest you both take a nap together, where he’ll wrap his arms around you to keep you warm. “I’ll keep you safe, don’t worry. Just let me know if you need anything,” he’ll say, his voice soft and full of sincerity. It’s all about offering that quiet, protective comfort that makes you feel like everything will be okay with him by your side.

-♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎-

‧ ୨ seungmin ୧ ‧

Seungmin isn’t the type to be overly dramatic or overly soft, but when he notices you’re uncomfortable, he steps up in his own way. Without saying much, he’ll disappear for a few minutes and return with a heating pad, a glass of water, and whatever snack he knows you like. He won’t make a big deal out of it, just setting everything beside you with a simple, “Here. Take this.” It’s his way of showing care without making you feel fussed over.

If he catches you whining about cramps or feeling miserable, he won’t sugarcoat things. “You act like you’re dying every month,” he’ll tease with a smirk, but the second you glare at him, he’s already adjusting your blanket and tucking you in. He’s playful, but he knows when to draw the line. After his teasing, he’ll sit next to you and absentmindedly rub your leg or hold your hand, quietly making sure you’re okay.

Seungmin’s love language during your period is distraction. He knows sitting around focusing on the pain won’t help, so he’ll casually toss you the TV remote. “Pick something to watch, and don’t make it something boring.” If you’re not up for a show, he’ll challenge you to a game on your phone, knowing that getting competitive will make you temporarily forget about how bad you’re feeling.

If you’re extra tired and just want to rest, Seungmin won’t be over-the-top affectionate, but he’ll stay close. He might sit on the floor beside the couch, scrolling on his phone, but every once in a while, he’ll check on you with a soft, “You still alive?” If you fall asleep, he won’t move, letting you rest peacefully while he stays right there—quietly looking after you in the most Seungmin way possible.

-♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎--♥︎-

‧ ୨ jeongin ୧ ‧

Jeongin may not always know exactly what to do when you’re feeling bad, but he tries his best in his own thoughtful way. The first thing he does is pull out his phone and search for the best ways to help with cramps or discomfort. “Okay, so Google says heating pads and snacks help... I can do that!” He’ll rush off to get everything, sometimes bringing back a completely random snack just because he thought it might cheer you up.

If he sees you curled up in pain, he’ll frown and sit beside you, resting his chin on his hand while observing you closely. “You look like you’re about to cry,” he’ll say, a little too bluntly, before quickly adding, “Do you want me to make you laugh? I’ll do something really dumb if it helps.” He’ll start making weird faces or doing a terrible dance just to see you smile, his own laughter filling the room when he sees it working.

Jeongin’s way of comforting you is casual but sweet. He won’t always say much, but he’ll stay close, scrolling on his phone next to you or playing a game while occasionally glancing over. Every so often, he’ll nudge your arm and say, “You good?” If you mumble that you’re not, he’ll sigh dramatically and hand you his hoodie. “Here. Hoodies fix everything.”

If you’re feeling extra exhausted, Jeongin will get a little softer without making it obvious. He’ll let you rest your head on his lap while he plays with your hair, humming softly without even realizing it. When he notices you getting sleepier, he’ll whisper, “Just sleep, I’ll wake you up if anything happens.” His quiet, reassuring presence makes you feel safe, and though he might pretend he’s not doing anything special, he secretly loves taking care of you in these little ways.

[luvashli]

MORE THEN FRIENDS

Synopsis -> Heeseung has always been your best friend—but lately, the lingering touches and stolen glances feel different. Maybe he’s been waiting for you to realize he’s meant to be more.

Pairing -> best!friend!heeseung x fem!reader

Genre -> oneshot, best friends to lovers, suggestive

Status -> complete

Wc -> 3.4k

Note -> requestet by this ask :) hope you enjoy

The first time you met Heeseung, he was the quiet new kid in your fourth-grade class, staring down at his desk while nervously tapping his pencil. You had been assigned as his seat partner, and while the rest of the class chattered around him, he stayed silent.

Ever the curious one, you nudged his arm with your elbow. “Wanna trade snacks?” you asked, holding up your peanut butter sandwich.

Heeseung hesitated, his eyes flickering up to meet yours for the first time. Then, without a word, he slid his pack of strawberry Pocky across the desk. You grinned, breaking your sandwich in half and handing it to him.

And just like that, you were inseparable.

___

Middle school was a blur of shared lunch trays, inside jokes, and whispered secrets. Heeseung wasn’t as shy anymore—not with you, at least. He still liked to keep to himself, but you were the exception to that rule.

You balanced each other out. Where you were loud and impulsive, he was calm and thoughtful. Where you rushed headfirst into things, he held back and thought things through.

When the other kids teased you for being “too much,” Heeseung was always there, rolling his eyes and telling you they were just jealous. And when Heeseung got called a nerd for acing every math test, you sat beside him at lunch and loudly declared that smart people were hot anyway.

Back then, everything was simple. Heeseung was your best friend, and you were his. No questions asked. No complicated feelings.

But then came high school. And suddenly, things weren’t so simple anymore.

___

Heeseung had always thought you were pretty. Even back in middle school, when you still had braces and a habit of tripping over your own feet, he knew there was something about you that pulled people in—pulled him in. But he never really understood what that feeling meant until sophomore year.

It happened at a school dance, of all places. You had dragged him there, even though he insisted he hated school events. You’d rolled your eyes and called him a grandpa, saying, “Come on, Hee, what’s the worst that could happen?”

The worst, apparently, was watching you slow dance with someone else.

He hadn’t realized he was gripping his soda can so tightly until Jake nudged him. “Dude, you look like you wanna kill someone.”

Heeseung forced a laugh. “What? No. I just…” He trailed off, eyes fixed on you—on the way you laughed at something your dance partner said, on the way they spun you around like you were weightless. And that’s when it hit him.

He was in love with you.

It was a terrifying realization, one that made his stomach twist into knots. Because the moment he understood his feelings, he also understood something else—you didn’t feel the same way.

After that night, Heeseung tried to ignore his feelings. He told himself it was just a phase, just a stupid crush that would go away if he stopped thinking about it.

He dated other girls. Not many, but enough to convince himself he was over you. But it never worked, because every time something good happened, you were the first person he wanted to tell. And every time something bad happened, you were the only person who could make it better.

So, he buried his feelings. He smiled when you talked about your latest crushes, pretended it didn’t sting when you called him your platonic soulmate, and kept being the best friend you needed him to be.

Because loving you was easy. It was having you that was impossible.

___

Now, standing on the edge of adulthood, you still saw Heeseung as your constant, your safe place. But Heeseung? He had spent years pretending not to love you.

And he was starting to wonder how much longer he could keep up the act.

If someone had told Heeseung years ago that he’d still be hopelessly in love with you, he would’ve laughed it off. He had convinced himself—or at least tried to—that his feelings would fade with time. That someday, he’d wake up and you’d just be his best friend again, nothing more.

But here he was, sitting across from you in your favorite café, watching as you stirred sugar into your coffee with that same absentminded concentration you always had, and he knew—he had never stopped loving you.

“You’re staring,” you teased, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Heeseung scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “No, I’m not.”

“You totally are.” You smirked, taking a sip of your drink. “What? Do I have something on my face?”

Heeseung wanted to tell you the truth—that you had his whole heart on your face, that he couldn’t look at you without wanting to memorize every little detail. But instead, he rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you have ‘annoying’ written all over it.”

You gasped dramatically. “Wow. Is this how you treat your best friend? Unbelievable.”

There it was. That word. Best friend.

Heeseung swallowed down the bitter taste that always followed when you said that. He knew it wasn’t your fault—you had no idea how he felt. How could you? He had spent years making sure you didn’t.

But lately, it was getting harder to pretend. Harder to keep smiling when you told him about your latest date, harder to act normal when you rested your head on his shoulder like it was the most casual thing in the world. Because to you, it was casual. But to Heeseung, every touch, every laugh, every moment with you felt like something he wasn’t allowed to have.

And it was slowly driving him insane.

“Hello? Earth to Heeseung?” Your voice cut through his thoughts, and he realized you were waving a hand in front of his face.

“Sorry, what?” He blinked.

“I was saying, do you wanna come over tonight? Movie night, just like old times.” You smiled, eyes bright with excitement.

It was an innocent offer. Just another normal night in your friendship. But to Heeseung, it was another reminder of how much he wanted but could never have.

Still, he nodded, forcing a grin. “Yeah, sure. Wouldn’t miss it.”

Because no matter how much it hurt, being close to you—even as just a friend—was better than not having you at all.

___

Movie nights with Heeseung were nothing new. They had been a tradition since high school—just the two of you, a ridiculous amount of snacks, and an unspoken rule that you had to rewatch at least one childhood favorite before the night was over.

But tonight felt… different.

You couldn’t quite put your finger on it. Maybe it was the way Heeseung seemed quieter than usual, his gaze lingering on you for a second too long when he thought you weren’t looking. Or maybe it was the way your heart kept skipping beats whenever his knee brushed against yours on the couch.

You shook the thought away, grabbing a handful of popcorn. It’s just Heeseung. Your best friend. Stop being weird.

“What do you wanna watch?” you asked, flipping through the streaming options.

Heeseung shrugged, leaning back against the couch. “You pick.”

“You always say that.”

“And yet, you always pick something terrible.” He smirked, reaching over to steal some of your popcorn.

You gasped, smacking his hand away. “Excuse you! I have excellent taste.”

He snorted. “Sure, if excellent taste means forcing me to sit through three-hour-long romance movies where nothing happens except people staring at each other.”

“You like those movies, don’t lie.”

“I like suffering through them for you—big difference,” he muttered under his breath.

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest spread just a little. Heeseung always did that—acted like he was just tolerating the things you loved, when in reality, he indulged you more than anyone ever had.

You ended up picking a random movie, something lighthearted, but halfway through, you barely paid attention. Your focus kept drifting to Heeseung—his stupidly perfect side profile, the way his lips parted slightly when he was concentrating, the little crease in his brow when something in the movie confused him.

It wasn’t like you had never noticed before. You had eyes, after all. But tonight, it was like your brain refused to brush it off as nothing.

You shifted slightly, only to realize just how close the two of you were sitting. At some point, Heeseung had draped his arm across the back of the couch, and without thinking, you had leaned into his side. It wasn’t unusual. You’d done this a hundred times before.

So why did it feel like your whole body was hyper-aware of him?

A scene in the movie made you laugh, and without thinking, you turned to share the moment with him—only to find him already looking at you.

Your breath hitched.

He didn’t look away.

For a second, neither of you moved. The only sound in the room was the muffled dialogue from the movie, but everything else faded into the background. His gaze flickered down—to your lips, just for a split second—before returning to your eyes.

And suddenly, you knew.

You knew what had been different about tonight. You knew why your heart was racing, why his touches felt electric, why the way he looked at you sent heat rushing through your veins.

Because for the first time, you were seeing Heeseung in a way you had never let yourself before.

And maybe—just maybe—you were falling for your best friend.

Your heart pounded as you stared at Heeseung, the glow of the TV flickering against his face. He wasn’t looking away.

He always looked at you—watching, waiting, as if he had something to say but never quite found the words. But tonight, for the first time, you weren’t oblivious to it. You weren’t brushing off the way his eyes lingered, the way his fingers twitched against his thigh like he wanted to reach for you but held himself back.

And maybe, for the first time, you didn’t want him to hold back.

You swallowed, trying to play it off. "Why are you staring at me like that?"

Heeseung’s jaw clenched slightly, and his voice came out lower than usual. "You’re the one staring first."

You weren’t. Or maybe you were. It didn’t matter.

The tension between you felt thick, heavy, like a rubber band stretched too tight, on the verge of snapping.

And then it did.

You weren’t sure who moved first, but suddenly, Heeseung’s lips were on yours, crashing into you like he had been waiting for this moment forever. Maybe he had. Maybe you had, too, without realizing it.

A small gasp left your lips, but Heeseung didn’t hesitate—his hands found your waist, pulling you closer, and you melted into him like you had been made to fit there.

The movie long forgotten, the only sound in the room was the ragged breathing between kisses, the quiet sighs you couldn’t hold back as Heeseung deepened the kiss. His hands roamed—one sliding up your back, the other gripping your thigh as he pulled you onto his lap.

You should’ve felt nervous. This was Heeseung, your best friend. The one who had always been by your side, the one you told everything to. But right now, nothing about this felt wrong. If anything, it felt like something that had been waiting to happen.

His lips trailed down, grazing the corner of your jaw, your neck—hot and unhurried, like he wanted to take his time memorizing every inch of you.

"Hee," you breathed, hands tangling in his hair.

His grip on you tightened, and a low groan rumbled from his chest, sending shivers down your spine. "You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this," he murmured against your skin.

The confession made your stomach flip. Because if he had wanted this for a long time… why did it take you so long to see it?

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look him in the eyes. They were darker than usual, filled with something raw, something unspoken.

"Why didn’t you ever say anything?" you whispered.

Heeseung exhaled a shaky breath, his fingers brushing against your cheek. "Because I was scared you’d never look at me the way I look at you."

Your heart clenched. How had you been so blind?

You cupped his face, your thumb tracing over his cheekbone. "I’m looking at you now."

And then, you kissed him again—slow, deep, like you were making up for all the lost time.

This wasn’t just a kiss. It was years of unsaid words, years of stolen glances, years of Heeseung loving you in silence.

And finally, finally, you were listening.

Heeseung’s lips moved against yours like he had been waiting forever—slow at first, savoring every second, but growing more desperate with each passing moment. His fingers dug into your waist as if he was afraid you might slip away, but there was no chance of that happening. Not anymore.

You were completely, hopelessly lost in him.

Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging slightly, and Heeseung let out a quiet groan against your lips. The sound sent heat rushing through you, making your whole body feel like it was on fire.

He pulled you even closer—if that was even possible—until there was no space left between you. His hands roamed, one gripping your thigh, the other sliding up your back, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake.

When he kissed you again, it was different—deeper, rougher, like he had finally let go of whatever restraint he’d been holding onto.

And you wanted more.

You shifted slightly in his lap, your fingers tracing down his jaw, his neck, the sharp lines of his collarbone. Heeseung sucked in a sharp breath, his hands tightening around you.

"Y/N," he murmured against your lips, his voice rough, almost pleading.

It sent a shiver down your spine. You had never heard him sound like that before.

You leaned in, lips brushing against the corner of his mouth. "What is it?" you teased softly, barely above a whisper.

Heeseung let out a shaky laugh, tilting his head back against the couch. "You’re actually going to kill me."

You grinned, feeling a rush of confidence. "Oh? Am I?"

His hands squeezed your hips, grounding himself. "You have no idea."

The air between you was thick, charged with something neither of you had dared to acknowledge before tonight. But now that the line had been crossed, there was no going back.

You stared at him—his swollen lips, the way his chest rose and fell as he tried to steady his breathing. Heeseung had always been beautiful, but right now? Right now, he looked absolutely wrecked.

Because of you.

Something about that realization made your heart pound even harder.

Slowly, you traced your fingers over his jaw, your touch featherlight. "Then maybe you should do something about it," you murmured.

Heeseung’s eyes darkened.

And in the next second, he flipped you onto your back, hovering over you with a smirk that sent a fresh wave of heat through you.

"You don’t know what you’re asking for," he murmured, his voice lower now, sending shivers down your spine.

You bit your lip, fingers tangling in the fabric of his hoodie. "Show me."

Heeseung groaned softly before capturing your lips again, his hands gripping your waist as he deepened the kiss.

And this time, neither of you held back.

___

When you woke up, the first thing you noticed was warmth.

You were tangled in Heeseung—his arm draped over your waist, his face buried in your hair, his steady breathing fanning across your skin. The soft glow of early morning filtered through your curtains, casting everything in golden light.

And then it hit you.

Last night. The kisses, the way he touched you like he had been waiting forever, the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing that had ever mattered.

Your heart clenched.

What happens now?

You shifted slightly, and Heeseung groaned in protest, tightening his hold on you.

“Mm, don’t move,” he mumbled, voice rough with sleep.

You bit your lip, trying to ignore the way your stomach flipped at how soft he sounded. “Heeseung, we have to get up.”

“No, we don’t.” He buried his face deeper into your neck, his lips brushing against your skin. “Five more minutes.”

You hesitated, staring at the ceiling. What were you supposed to say? Did last night change everything? Were you still just… friends? Did he regret it?

Heeseung must’ve felt the tension in your body because he finally lifted his head, his eyes barely open, but still filled with something softer when they met yours.

“You’re overthinking,” he murmured.

You swallowed. “I just… what does this mean?”

Heeseung blinked at you sleepily before a small smirk played at his lips. “You want me to confess again, don’t you?”

Your face heated. “That’s not—”

He cut you off by leaning in, brushing a slow, lazy kiss against your lips. It was barely a kiss at all, just a soft press of his mouth against yours, but it made your whole body melt.

When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours. “I love you,” he whispered. “I think I always have.”

Your breath hitched.

It was one thing to realize your feelings, to feel them creeping up on you like a slow-burning flame. But hearing him say it—knowing that he had felt this way for so long—made your chest ache.

“I…” You hesitated, but only for a second. Because deep down, you already knew the answer.

You cupped his face, running your thumb along his cheek. “I love you too, Hee.”

Heeseung let out a small, relieved laugh before kissing you again—slow and sweet, like he was savoring every second.

And this time, there was no hesitation. No second-guessing.

Just you and him, exactly where you were always meant to be.

Heeseung kissed you again, slow and deliberate, as if making sure you weren’t just a dream. His hands rested gently on your waist, his thumbs tracing soft circles against your skin, grounding himself in the moment.

“I could get used to this,” he murmured against your lips, his voice still thick with sleep.

You smiled, fingers brushing through his messy hair. “Waking up late?”

“No.” He pressed another lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Waking up with you.”

Your heart did an embarrassing little flip. “You’re such a sap.”

“Only for you.” His smirk was lazy, teasing, but his eyes held nothing but warmth.

You rolled your eyes, but the truth was—you liked this side of him. The Heeseung who was completely unfiltered, who didn’t hold back anymore. And maybe, deep down, you always had.

A comfortable silence settled between you as Heeseung shifted, pulling you impossibly closer until your head was resting against his chest. You could hear his heartbeat, steady and strong, and the warmth of his skin against yours made you wish you could stay here forever.

But reality was waiting.

Eventually, you sighed. “We really should get up.”

“No, we really shouldn’t.”

“Heeseung.”

“Y/N.” He mimicked your tone, grinning when you shot him a glare.

You tried to move, but he tightened his arms around you, effortlessly keeping you trapped against him. “Nope,” he said, voice muffled as he buried his face in your shoulder. “You’re staying right here.”

You huffed, but your resolve was crumbling. He was too warm. Too comfortable. And if you were being honest… you didn’t really want to move either.

“Fine,” you relented, nuzzling closer. “But only for five more minutes.”

Heeseung chuckled, his lips brushing against your temple. “You say that now.”

And, of course, five minutes turned into ten.

Then twenty.

And before you knew it, the two of you were still tangled together, lost in quiet laughter, whispered confessions, and soft, lingering touches.

Because for the first time, there was no rush. No reason to pretend.

For the first time, you weren’t just best friends anymore.

You were his. And he was yours.

Masterlist

Open taglist

If you’d like to be tagged in future updates for this story, let me know by:

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@luvleyylina @crimson-reaper576 @d-dilemma @laylasbunbunny @luv-rizzimura @hoonkishoe @gyuyoungg @strxwbloody @tender-is-the-moon @imlonelydontsendhelp

[urrmomzfavorite]

PAC Your Next Spicy Time ? 18+

psstt check my masterlist if you want more readings from me !

Pile One: You won’t see this person coming. This will happen during a time when you feel like nothing is changing, nothing is moving. You look good as hell, but none of the options are impressing you. You want a real offer—someone with potential, someone who will woo you in all the right ways. Well, wish granted! This person is passionate, and you’ll love the way they speak. They could be quite the charmer! They’re really smart, more than they look, and they know it. This person will plot on you sooo bad. They might have some control issues, but they only pursue people they’re seriously interested in. They want your body, but also your mind and your heart.

When it comes to your spicy night together, this person has been thinking, obsessing about it. They’ve fantasized about all the ways they want to have you, taste you. This has been a long time coming for both of you. They’ll work hard to please you—they want you to moan and scream their name. They need to feel your desire for them. Your relationship will change after this; you’ll be more in tune with each other, like the last piece of a puzzle has finally been put in place. You make this person hard.

psstt check my masterlist if you want more readings from me !

Pile Two: Pile number two—your next time is with someone you already know. You could already be in a relationship with this person. They see you as an angel and constantly tell themselves how lucky they are. They were always scared of someone seeing their shadows, but you’re not scared of them. You welcome their darkness with open arms, telling them their dark parts are nothing to be afraid of.

They want to worship you, kneel at the altar that is your body, and give everything they have to you. You are the star guiding them in the night sky, the creator of their vices and the solution to their desires. Their thirst for you is unquenchable. They want to get drunk on your love, high on your happiness, and hard in their pants. You are the only goal they’re working toward. Also, this person wants to smell your panties? They want to keep them in their pocket and smell them whenever? (Wow, they are down BAD.)

Pssst check my masterlist if you want more readings from me !

Pile Three: Ohhhhh, this is spicy! They want to get straight to business, lol. This person has an extreme attraction to you. This could be a complicated relationship—or situationship? This person might be flaky at times. Maybe you’ve decided to leave them behind? A lot is coming up at this moment. They can’t stop thinking about you—on your back, on your knees, tied up? Wowww. There’s a potent sexual energy here. They want to make you cum; it makes them feel victorious. Seeing your body twitch under their touch…

I’m hearing they feel like they’re the only one who can handle you, take care of you? They want to take it slow—it’s been a long time since the last time. They want to give you a massage, oil you up, slowly moving their hands toward your intimate parts. They want you to forgive them, maybe with makeup sex? Lol. If you’re not in contact with this person, you might feel their energy lingering around you. That’s because you’re heavily on their mind. I think they can’t get you out—it’s become a pattern. They need you, only you. Remember when I said they feel like they’re the only one who can take care of you? I think it’s projection on their part. YOU hold all the power over their desire, and they hate it.

Psst check my masterlist if you want more readings from me !

[bunni-v1]

Working on a jealous PV fic (ty 🃏 nonnie i’ll make out w u) but I do it see anyone capitalize on how jealous he really is. Like he’s got serious issues, it’s just that he’s quiet about them 💀

He’s quite literally the perfect partner, there’s no reason for him to have any doubts. And he doesn’t have any doubts about YOU, it’s just… he gets annoyed when other cookies take up your time. Especially if it’s someone more… mmm…. respectable? Like another ancient or someone well respected.

He sees the way you interact with them and he feels… funny. You’re different around them, more open in a way. You have inside jokes that he doesn’t understand, you whisper little secrets in their ears and giggle about it after. He feels left out, and he longs to have that kind of connection to you.

It manifests as little twitches in his expression, never changing from that warm smile, but shifting slightly. No one can pick up on it, not even you. The only cookies even slightly able to tell are the ancients, and that’s only because of their time spent with him. It’s just a quiet lingering feeling that he doesn’t like to acknowledge, but eventually it’ll rear it’s ugly head.

Maybe a cookie tells you a joke and you laugh too hard or a friendly touch lingers a second too long. Whatever it is, it tips him over the edge and he has to place himself between you and the offending party.

He never interrupts your conversations with others, never. But this time he comes up beside you and there is something about him that makes both you and your friend falter in conversation. He insists you continue, but both of you are able to catch that somethings just off… You more than the other cookie, seeing as he has an iron clad grip around your waist.

The conversation doesn’t last much longer after that. You want to know the worst thing about it though, Pure Vanilla is humble about it all. If you corner him and ask him what that was about he admits it!

“Perhaps I was a bit… jealous…” in that stupidly adorable voice of his.

He’s not proud of himself, but he admits it to you willingly. Sweet thing that he is.

[witherby]

If the last fic takes place before the Batfam knew about Conners existence, I just wanna see Mouse explain to them that a Superman cosplayer saved them lol

I love that. "Yeah some cosplayer saved my life. 10/10 would let him do it again."

Littlest Wayne: Information Gathering

Masterlist is Here!

"You and Superman need to come straight to the Cave when you return to Earth."

"I miss you, too, babe," Hal smirks, gliding just above the ground on a planet he and Clark are guarding for a major diplomatic conference. "Tryna get the debrief out of the way so we can get me out of by boxer briefs right after?"

"Mouse was in a hostage situation in Metropolis today that was too overcast for them to get out of."

Hal's good mood plummets. He almost shouts for Clark to get his ass over to him so they can immediately head back.

"Are they —"

"Alive, and relatively unharmed considering the severity of the event."

"What does relatively mean in this context, B?" Hal snaps. "Relatively unharmed by vigilante standards or by civilian standards? Are they in the hospital?"

"Some bad bruising to the temple and a low-grade burn on the right arm. They're safe."

Bruce's calm tone and steady cadence helps relax Hal. His shoulders un-tense and he lets out a sigh.

"Alright. But there's more to it, otherwise you wouldn't have contacted me."

Bruce hums in that quiet way he does when he's pleased by Hal's deductive reasoning. It makes him smile and miss him that much more, and he's only been gone two days.

"They were rescued by a new Meta. Called himself Superman."

"Look at you, crackin' jokes on an official League line. Never thought I'd see the day!"

"..."

"You're not joking. There's a second Superman flying around?"

"A Superboy, by the looks of it. He's the real deal — the flight, the strength, and the suit all points to another Kryptonian. This will make three, after Supergirl."

Hal furrows his brow. He lets his feet hit the ground and starts to pace, kicking up little bits of purple dirt. This planet is ridiculously fragile. It's part of the reason he and Clark are protecting it during these peace talks.

"Is it a baby? Don't remember either Kara or Lois looking pregnant."

"A teenager. Around Mouse's age, by the looks of him, and very inexperienced from what scattered footage I can find of the event."

"Which makes no sense. There's something up if he's a teen but still can't use his powers right. Supes told us he could hone his almost perfectly before he was old enough to drive a car. A new scheme by Luthor or Waller, maybe?"

"I knew I married you for a reason."

"Keep praising me like that and there won't be time for a debrief when I get home."

Bruce hums again. His considering sound. The Green Lantern suit feels very constricting, all of a sudden.

"You don't need to rush your mission to get back. There is one more thing you need to know prior to return, however."

"I'm all ears."

"Mouse described the Superboy as... handsome."

Hal falls to his hands and knees, kicking up a small cloud of purple dust.

"No, no, nooo! They're just a baby!"

"Well. They're seventeen."

"Well I say they're too young for romance! Yesterday they were afraid of Cooties!!"

"Time flies. It's inevitable."

"We're gonna wrap these peace talks up tonight."

Bruce sounds amused on the other end of the line, like he hasn't just crushed Hal's entire world three sentences ago.

"You aren't due back for another week."

"We're wrapping it up tonight!"

"Okay. Agent A will know to set your plate tomorrow."

"Can he make some of those mini quiches? I'm gonna need comfort food to get over this."

"I'll pass the request along."

"And can you wear the see-through robe you were given after you shot that Dior commercial?"

"...if you slick back your hair, yes."

Hal grins. He's still not happy about his youngest kid growing up so fast, but this is a nice consolation prize.

--

True to his word, Hal and Clark get the peace talks concluded by nightfall and head back to Earth. Clark is given the general run-down of what happened on the way, and his curiosity and insistence on getting answers lets Hal know it'll be a long night. He's gonna slick his hair back anyway. He misses his husband, dammit.

You sit at the meeting table in the Bat Cave, feet propped on top exactly like Jason does it, with your hands stuffed in the pockets of your hoodie. You stare groggily at Hal and Clark as they fly in from their trip, shuffling to your feet to give them both sleepy hugs.

"Welcome back," you yawn. "Dad said you have questions?"

"Hey, Mousey," Hal grins, ruffling your hair. You grumble and wave his hand away, then grumble louder when Clark does the exact same thing. "Just got some follow-up questions about the field trip, then we'll let you get back to bed."

You go back to your seat and slump into it, rubbing your eyes. "Kay."

"Did the boy you met tell you his name?" Clark asks, sitting to your right. There's a dossier sitting on the table that he flips open, glancing over the information Bruce collected with Tim's help. He frowns at a still image pulled from his interview on TV.

"Just called himself Superman," you explain. "He had a version of your suit on. It looked legit. I'm guessing he's not your son, based on the way you're looking at the file."

"He is not. Did he seem to be acting maliciously or under someone's control? Was he flesh and blood or robotic?" Clark asks. "Did he hurt anyone? Did he try to hurt you?"

"No," you say, "he was warm. He's flesh and blood and definitely saved us from that fire. In fact he seemed...uh.."

You wave your hand around vaguely and pick over the best way to phrase this.

"Okay! There's a boy at school named Rory. He transferred to Gotham Academy this year after being homeschooled."

"Mousey," Hal speaks up, "I know you're tired, but we kinda gotta stay on track —"

"I am!" You insist. "I am, I swear. Look, it was obvious Rory was homeschooled because he didn't know how to, like, socialize properly? He asked a lot of questions that feel like common-sense if you're used to going to public schools and talking to people outside your family. The Superman cosplayer kind of acted like that."

"Cosplayer?" Clark mouths at Hal, who waves him off.

"So you think he's never been out there doing any hero stuff before that day?"

You shrug and nod. "I think he's never been out at all before that day. He reminded me a lot of Rory on his first day of school."

"But he didn't hurt you?" Hal asks.

"I promise, he didn't. He spoke to me like twice and then brought me to the EMTs to get looked at. Then Jason showed up and brought me home after making sure the school knew I wouldn't be taking the bus back from Metropolis."

"Last question," Clark promises, recapturing your attention. "Can you find him right now? With your shadows?"

"Uh, I can try."

Your gaze becomes a little distant. The shadows cast from one of the overhead lights shifts and dissolves into the ground, zipping out of the cave. Hal and Clark wait silently as you work, feeling for the presence of the boy that saved you just a day before.

"... M e t r o p o l i s..." You mutter, voice taking on that faint, echoing quality it does whenever you speak through the darkness. "...A r o o m...c o n c i o u s...k n o w s I s e e..."

"Come back, Mouse," Hal says, urgent. You take a moment to get your bearings, yawning and rubbing your face. "He knows you used your power to find him?"

You nod. "He saw my shadow move in the corner of his room. Guys, it's so bare and dark. He's got a cot, an alarm clock, and one blanket in there. It looks like some room you'd stick a sick person in to quarantine them."

"Where in Metropolis is he? That doesn't sound like the Solitary Confinement cells in the prison."

"It's not a jail. It looked like a lab, I think?"

"Lex Luthor," Hal and Clark state at the same time. Clark stands up, drawing you into another gentle hug, then heads for the exit.

"Thank you for your help, Mouse! Sleep well."

"Bye, uncle Clark. Have a good night," you call after him. When Hal stands, you rise with him, stretching. "Can I go to bed, now?"

"Yeah, hon," Hal nods, pressing his hand to your back and guiding you to the stairs. "We'll head up together. I'll tell your dad what we learned when he comes back from patrol."

"Kay," you mumble, climbing the steps with another wide yawn. "M'sleeping in tomorrow. Being up at two am sucks."

Hal chuckles. "Yeah, it does. We'll put your breakfast in some Tupperware for when you get up, then."

Once the two of you climb through the grandfather clock and reenter the manor proper, you give Hal one more goodnight hug, then excuse yourself to go to bed. Your eyes are closed as you shuffle into your room and nudge the door closed behind you, navigating the space from memory. It's not until you start climbing back into bed that you feel a dip in it that shouldn't be there.

The dip of another person's weight.

You snap your eyes open and you inhale to scream. A hand presses itself to your mouth, and you find yourself staring at those brilliant blues from yesterday.

"Waitwaitwait-" the boy gasps, whisper-shouting. "Please!!"

You push his hand off and he lifts them both up in placation, floating off the bed and several feet away from you.

"What do you want!?" You whisper-yell back. "Why are you in my room!? That's creepy!"

He grimaces, knees curling towards his chest. In the low light, you can see color painting his cheeks.

"I wanted to come see you," he murmurs.

"Why?"

"I don't know your name."

You're completely flummoxed. You shake your head and shrug.

"Do you need to?" You ask.

The boy floats a little closer, his gaze intense. He looks at you like...he looks at you like you're the most important thing in the world right now. It makes your stomach swoop.

"Yes," he says, completely sincere. "I'm...I can't...there's this..."

His brow furrows. He's exceptionally easy to read, like he's never known how to be anything except fully, authentically himself. It's a welcome change in a family of vigilante detectives with emotional intimacy issues. It'll help you know if he's trying to deceive you, too.

Quietly, you give him your name. His eyes snap to yours and he repeats it, lips shaping the vowels and consonants with an unusual reverence. You can feel your own face getting a little warm.

"I'm...Conner," the boy says. His eyes dart to your mouth. You oblige.

"Hi, Conner," you mutter. His whole body un-tenses, looking like a puppet with his strings cut as he almost dangles in the air.

"Can I —" Conner cuts himself off. He drifts closer to you. You shift back, feeling cornered from where you kneel in your bed. "Ah. I wanted... I don't know how to say..."

Exhausted and confused, you gesture at him to hurry it up a little. You know you should probably alert someone that the new Meta boy is literally floating four feet away from you right now, but you know he isn't here to cause harm.

"It's late," you speak up. "Can you try a little harder to get the point across so I can sleep?"

"Yes," Conner says quickly, obediently. "Call for me."

You blink heavily. Your mind feels like sludge. "Elaborate."

"When you need something," he specifies. "If you're in danger, or lonely, or just...or just want to. Please. Call for me and I'll come to you."

"Why?" You yawn. It's getting harder to stay conscious. You let your body fall over until you collide with the pillows, eyes slipping closed. "Why me?"

Conner floats above you, reaching down to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear with more reverence than is appropriate for having barely met. His fingers brush against the bruise on your temple, featherlight.

"Because it's you," he says, as your consciousness fades. "Something in my heart is yours... I hope that's okay."

You hum, managing a barely discernible "kay," in your last seconds of awareness before sleep pulls you under.

In your subconscious mind, you register warmth wrap around you for a moment, and then you're alone with nothing but a cracked window as evidence anyone had ever been there.

[ctrl-alt-tahu]

So, I finished reading this post right as the alarm went off for me to make supper, and if that alarm hadn't gone off, it would probably have been subsumed in "the Scroll," but instead it had a chance to really sit and stew while I was cooking and putting the dishes away and...

I am fond of Fiddler on the Roof. I grew up with it, because we lived too far out of the city to get over-the-air TV and my parents didn't spring for cable or satellite. Instead, I grew up with videos, and because my mom loved the musicals of her childhood (think: Rodgers and Hammerstein--she was born in 1961), this was one of them.

I'm not Jewish at all. To borrow a phrase from my favourite author, "I can only reply that I regret that I appear to have no ancestors of that gifted people." Indeed, I grew up sufficiently far from urban centers that I don't know of having ever met anyone Jewish until after I left high school. My experience of Judaism was exclusively filtered through the Christian Bible and media--so Fiddler on the Roof was arguably rather important.

Certainly, I didn't understand what was going on the way someone Jewish would--I was the Catholic in-law in the earlier posts. And, as kids go, I was non-American enough and nerdy enough to have some interest in history, so I eventually had some idea what a pogrom, but I didn't get it; I didn't see the whole movie as a horror story. But I did recognise that it was a downer ending. I couldn't have articulated why, probably because I didn't see what a Jewish viewer did through the first parts of the film. But the ending did cast a shadow back over it. If nothing else, it yanked a the film from being a comedic set in la-la-land firmly back into reality. It kind of worked, if you didn't know what the Jewish viewers know, like the abrupt end of Monty Python and the Holy Grail, but backwards.

I haven't thought too much about Fiddler in the intervening score of years, but if I did, it was sort of through that lens of being a kid and of it taking place "a thousand years ago" (rounding). Like, I sort of knew it had really happened... ish... to real people, but it wasn't something I thought about.

But now?

I'm still not Jewish (sorry--though I have been tempted). But I understand more than I understood as a preteen. Maybe it's the resurgence of Czarist Russia in the early 2020s... maybe it's the "rise of Fascism" vibe of the current "roaring" 20s... I don't know, but it doesn't feel like real life "back then." It feels like real life right now.

I'm absolutely floored that it's supposed to be set in 1905. This is what churned around in my butter-tub of a head putting away the dishes. As a kid, I had thought it set about 1880. I don't know why and I don't know what difference that 25 years would make--the last 25 years have flown by way too fast--but it made the difference I guess in my head that Fiddler was a period piece to me, rather than something "20th century."

The movie was released in 1971. That means a 10 year-old kid in 1905 was only 76. A 20-year-old (say... Tevye's daughter), would have only been in her mid-80s. In other words, the pogroms were in living memory.

(As an aside, the nearness of history shouldn't shock me, but it constantly does. In this case, it really shouldn't shock me. My own non-Russian great-grandparents were ALSO fleeing Russia in the 1900/1910s. I even sort of knew that as a kid. I just... didn't put it together.)

The tsarist pogroms are out of living memory now--barely. I don't think I ever really thought about what the end of living memory meant, but in my lifetime, living memory has ended for a few things (not all of them serious): the Victorian era and WWI, for example, and now we're fast going to see more things pass. All of which is to say that all things I and my generation assumed because we grew up "in living memory of" can't be assumed.

The span from the pogroms to today isn't even two lifetimes, but it only takes one to forget.

Dear God, did you have to send me news like that, today of all days? I know, I know we are The Chosen People, but once in awhile, can't you choose someone else?

[ellierium]

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ 𝐬𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐲 ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

𝙨𝙮𝙣𝙤𝙥𝙨𝙞𝙨: ellie wants to eat you whole. you let her! and maybe return the favor.

𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: ellie williams x fem!reader

𝙘𝙬: smut — fingering, pussy eating, face riding, "sloppy" descriptions, dirty talk. mention of blood. vague plot.

✧˖*°࿐

Having sex with Ellie isn’t bad at all. You learn a lot about her.

She has sensitive ears (you knew that) and a sensitive neck (you didn’t know that). Her sides were ticklish, but when you run your hands down to her waist, she responds beautifully. A symphony of breathy moans and pretty whispers. Her hair is a light halo over her head and she looks too comfortable being sprawled out on your bed. She doesn’t stay there for long, of course. She’s too eager to do that.

Her kisses trail down the crook of your neck, onto your shoulder, down your chest. She knows you like kisses on your stomach, on your hips, on your pussy. It makes her dizzy, how much you want and how much she’s willing to give.

It suddenly feels like too much and not enough. 

“Ellie,” you whine breathily, but only when Ellie’s tongue trails down your stomach, “Ellie– Ellie.”

She’d never focused on the way you said her name before. Now that she is, it was the only way she wanted her name to be said. 

“Yeah?” She breathes, lifting her head from your torso. You stare down at her, your chest heaving, her eyes half-lidded. You can’t really form any words, so Ellie nips at your hip bone. Your hips twitch up towards her face. You blush a pretty pink, and Ellie decides then and there that she is going to eat you whole.

“C’mere,” you say, sweet enough that Ellie does. If you told her to commit mass murder with that voice, she would. 

You pull her down for a kiss that had your teeth knocking into each other. You could swear your lip was bleeding, but then Ellie’s tongue is lapping up any blood that would be there, and you can’t help but groan. Ellie sucks on your bottom lip, making it swell and bruise. She pulls away, only to push you down.

“Didn’t realize you’d be this rough,” you laugh, winded and a little crazed. 

“Making up for lost time,” she grins back, leaning down to place more kisses on your chest. It works well to shut you up. 

“Oh, yeah?” You suck in a breath, only half-trying to get away from Ellie’s lips.

A teasing bite to your hip makes you grunt, and your hips jerk. 

Ellie could probably spend the rest of her life figuring out what makes you sound so pretty. She’d never thought that hard about what you would be like in bed– thinking about you as hers was enough, at least it used to be. Now, though, with you pliant and at her mercy, her mind is racing. 

She can’t help the deranged grin on her face, can’t help smothering her face into your side. She hums when it makes you gasp.

“Ellie,” you whine again, your fingers tugging and pulling at strands of her hair. “C’mon.” 

Ellie seriously does not need to be told twice. 

She has half the mind to push her luck, though– see if she could make you beg, but saves it for another day. 

She tugs at your sweats impatiently, doesn’t wait for you to kick them off your legs before she tugs down your underwear and lets her fingers graze over your wet pussy. She said she was making up for lost time. She meant it. 

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, your eyes glaze over, “Fuck.”

“Yeah, you mentioned that,” Ellie snarks quietly, ignoring the harsh tug from your fingers. She sighs, pressing kisses to your pussy, licking just to see what you would do. 

You don’t disappoint. You immediately look down, your lips parted over a gasp, your eyebrows pinched. Your pussy is absolutely drooling, but Ellie very happily licks it up. 

“God–” 

As Ellie slowly eases in two fingers, she hums softly at the sound of your greedy cunt swallowing her fingers up. She pumps her fingers in and out of your pussy, slow and gentle. She rests her head on your thigh for a moment.

“You’ve gotten head before, no?” She murmurs, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh. You nod, your whole body twitching with every kiss she placed there. She smiled.

“You always respond like this?” 

“No,” you breathe, combing your shaky fingers through her hair, “Just you. Dunno why.”

“Just me,” Ellie repeats in a whisper, fascinated. 

She doesn’t give much of a warning for when her tongue would lick up your pussy, but it seems as though she enjoyed it better that way. Ellie watches to see what you like and don't like, and it makes you dizzy how quickly she learns how to make you shudder. 

But Ellie can’t help herself in some way— she loves to shove her tongue into your cunt and lap up your drool. She loves holding your hips down, loves when you look down at her and moan in approval.

“Fuck,” you whimper quietly, trying not to jerk your hips too hard. You shook your head quickly, embarrassed, and Ellie watched with half-lidded eyes. 

“M’close–” You gasp, “No– fuck–”

You whine pathetically when Ellie pulls away, caressing your hip bones. She’s too pretty, Ellie thinks distantly. 

“Why no?” She murmurs, her voice hoarse, and she revels in the way you shuddered.

“Just– so fast,” you mutter back.

“Bad?” 

“Not bad,” you wheeze, half-heartedly tugging Ellie’s face closer to your pussy, “Very good.” 

Ellie continues, keeps going until you cum all over her mouth and chin, until your body seizes up and your thighs lock around her head. She lets you ride out your orgasm, and sits patiently with her tongue out and fingers in your cunt. Once you slump against the mattress, she pulls away, her fingers slipping out as gently as she can muster. She ignores the wetness between her own thighs, instead opting to crawl up on the bed, placing an arm around your waist. 

You look at her like she grew a second head.

“The fuck are you doing?” 

Ellie frowns. 

“Ride my face,” you breathe, cheeks rosy, “I’ll make it feel good–”

You don’t have to talk her into it– not at all. She seems positive that she’s going to cum no matter what you do. 

Ellie wastes no time to lay you back down, her touch soft but she’s forceful with it. She pushes your hair out of your face, then carefully straddles your head, keeping her hips up so she can still meet your eyes. It’s a silent question, but you just nod. 

With that, she sinks down, you meeting her pussy with an eager mouth. You don't have a technique per se, but you make up for your lack of experience with your eagerness. You lap at her cunt like a dog, stuffing your face as close as you can, spreading your spit and Ellie’s drool all over her folds. 

“Shiiiiit,” Ellie gasps, hips rocking slow and gentle so as to not hurt you. “Like that, baby— such a good fuckin’ girl—”

You breathe harshly through your nose, not wanting to waste a second away from Ellie’s cunt, and honestly, Ellie doesn’t think she’ll last very long anyway. 

It feels too surreal– feels too much like a dream. Ellie can’t help that her hips are moving on their own, can’t help that she wants to take control.

You notice it— the stutter in her hips— and you squeeze her thighs as if to give her approval. So, she does. You moan against her pussy, your cunt dripping at all the shit Ellie says. Desperate, borderline belligerent, but it makes your clit throb. One of your hands grip her hip like you’d keep her there by force if you had to, so Ellie very safely assumes you like it.

“Mm— your tongue feels so fuckin’ good, baby— soooo deep in my cunt, fuck!”

The way your tongue slides between her folds and flicks against her clit brings Ellie closer to her orgasm with each passing moment. The idea of how much you’re willing to give her has her desperate, chasing her orgasm while she rides your face. Your other hand goes under, two of your fingers easily slipping into her cunt. That coupled with the thought of being the first girl to ever fuck your face is enough to send her over the edge, and she fucks you face ‘til it’s glazed over with spit and cum.

Her thighs shake as she sits up and quickly maneuvers herself so she can flop down next to you. You breathe deep, head swimming and cunt aching. She throws an arm over your waist, fingers caressing your hip bone. You glance over at her, lips quirked up. She’s already smiling, eyes hazy.

“Your turn?”

[jadeazora]

The story is set in Lumiose City, where an urban redevelopment plan is underway to shape the city into a place that belongs to both people and Pokémon. Compared to Lumiose City as it appeared in the Pokémon X and Pokémon Y games, released in 2013, more greenery now adorns the city, alongside facilities with a cutting-edge feel. In Lumiose City, spaces frequented by people—such as shopping arcades, cafés, and restaurants—coexist with more natural areas, such as waterfronts and verdant parks. At the center of Lumiose stands Prism Tower, the very symbol of the city.

While visiting Lumiose City during your travels, you’ll come to stay in an old hotel named Hotel Z. This hotel will serve as your base as you and the new friends you’ll meet in Lumiose tackle all sorts of incidents that will occur in the city.

As part of Lumiose’s urban redevelopment plan, driven by a large corporation called Quasartico Inc., the city has been outfitted with “wild zones” in an effort to help humans and Pokémon share the city. These areas are constructed using cutting-edge technology to give Pokémon places to live. Within wild zones, you can battle Pokémon and catch them by throwing Poké Balls.

In previous titles in the Pokémon video game series, Pokémon took action once per turn. In Pokémon Legends: Z‑A, Trainers and their Pokémon will move around in real time during battles, and Pokémon will unleash their moves when their Trainers command them to. In addition to type matchups, there will be new gameplay mechanics to consider, such as the precise timing for swapping out your Pokémon or using moves, the different lengths of time moves will take to launch, and how big an area the moves will impact. This unprecedented style of Pokémon battling is one of the most thrilling parts of this title.

You’ll make a friend who lives and works at Hotel Z, supporting the owner however they can. They may come on strong at times, but they like helping people and Pokémon. They’re quite skilled at Pokémon battles too.

AZ is a man who stands over nine feet tall. He’s the owner of Hotel Z and claims to be three thousand years old. He quietly harbors a strong determination and will. His Floette is also said to have lived for three thousand years. She always accompanies AZ.

Jett is the CEO of Quasartico Inc., a large corporation driving Lumiose’s urban redevelopment plan with the aim of shaping the city into one that belongs to both people and Pokémon. It seems she hopes to deepen the bonds between Pokémon and people, and Vinnie is her secretary, he always seems busy and has a reputation for being a fast worker. (I'm automatically suspicious of these two, moreso Jett, but hopefully they surprise me with Sycamore being the villain or maybe Malva? I don't think AZ will be our only returning character.)

The rest of the info we're given is just a bunch of general info on the starters, Zygarde, and Megas. Cool that ORAS Megas were confirmed tho, like I knew they would be in there, but I'm still curious how many there are, like will we see any Hoenn Legends or are they saving that for Legends Delta?

[shyoko]

They are caught in an intimate moment. ☆

This writing is my own; no copies, adaptations, or translations are allowed. I hope you like it. (English is not my first language.) 

 Requests are: open

I want to thank you all for all the support you’re giving to the reactions ♡♡♡

☆Also, I wanted to let you know how I’ll be organizing the posts. I’ll be uploading a chapter every other day. Before each post, I’ll create a poll with four story options, and you’ll vote for the one you want me to upload. The next day, I’ll publish the winning story and repeat the process in the same way.☆

☆ Contains adult content. !!

Heeseung☆

You never imagined that baking cookies could turn into such a heated make-out session.

Maybe it was the long wait while the oven did its job, or perhaps it was Heeseung’s lingering touches on your skin—light, teasing, yet electrifying. Whatever the reason, the result was undeniable: you were trapped in his arms, your back pressed against the cool kitchen counter as his lips moved hungrily against yours.

Heeseung lifted you effortlessly, settling you onto the counter as his hands wandered freely over your body. A shaky breath escaped your lips when his fingers found the hem of your shirt, and in the blink of an eye, it was discarded onto the floor. His mouth trailed eagerly down your skin, leaving a burning path in its wake.

But the moment shattered in an instant.

—Oh, for God’s sake! Really? Is there nowhere else in this house?! —Jay’s exasperated voice cut through the air, freezing you in place.

Heeseung tensed immediately, his wide eyes locking onto yours in a mix of shock and panic. In a clumsy rush, he grabbed your shirt and helped you cover yourself, his voice caught between an apology and a weak defense.

—How was I supposed to know you were here?

Jay let out an exaggerated sigh, crossing his arms with pure frustration while you struggled to catch your breath and regain your composure.

Damn cookies.

Jay☆

You had decided to stop by the studio to visit the guys, and there you found Jay completely immersed in his guitar practice, rehearsing for his upcoming covers.

You knocked softly on the door, and after a few seconds, a visibly exhausted Jay opened it. His tired eyes and slightly tousled hair only made him look even more attractive.

—Did you not sleep well? —you asked with a hint of concern.

Jay gave you a small, lazy smile, his deep, husky voice filling the space between you.

—Not really… Think you could help wake me up a little? —his tone was sweet, but there was something undeniably mischievous in his gaze.

And just like that, within minutes, you were straddling his lap, feeling him buried deep inside you. According to him, this helped him relax and focus better—but the truth was, every time he shifted, whether to adjust his position or reach for something on the table, the friction sent waves of pleasure through your body, making it harder and harder to stay still.

The heat pooling inside you became unbearable, and after minutes of this slow, torturous game, you couldn’t take it anymore.

—Jay… stop moving, or I swear I’ll start bouncing on you —you warned, your voice shaky with frustration and desire.

He let out a low chuckle, his fingers tightening around your waist.

—Oh, sweetheart… don’t even try. I need to concentrate.

But if he wanted to play, so would you.

Without hesitation, you began moving against him, challenging him. His breathing turned ragged almost instantly, and though he tried to hold you still, the pleasure was too much—forcing small, breathy moans past his lips, mixing with your own.

Everything was going perfectly… until it all went to hell.

—Hey, Jay, could you help me wi—…?

Jungwon’s voice cut off abruptly. His eyes widened in shock, his entire body freezing at the sight in front of him.

You went completely still, your heart hammering in your chest as Jay tensed beneath you. The silence that followed was so thick it was suffocating.

Jay was the first to react, his voice coming out harsher than he intended.

—Jungwon… get out. Now.

The younger boy blinked rapidly, clearly in disbelief, before turning on his heel and stumbling out of the room as fast as he could.

Jay let out a long, frustrated sigh before lifting you off him effortlessly and settling you onto his chair. Leaning in close, his lips brushed against your ear, his voice dropping to a dangerously low whisper.

—I'll deal with you later… Don’t think for a second that I’ll forget how naughty you’ve been.

And with that, he walked out after Jungwon, as if nothing had happened.

But you both knew this wasn’t over.

Jake☆

What started as a quiet movie night ended with Jake pressing you down onto the mattress, his body hovering over yours as his hands slowly explored every curve of your back.

—Are you going to be good for me, baby? —he whispered against your ear, his deep voice vibrating through your skin—. Are you going to let me make you mine?

His lips trailed down your bare back, leaving warm, open-mouthed kisses as his hands settled firmly on your waist. His touch was slow but sure, and just as he finally filled you completely, the sudden sound of a phone ringing shattered the atmosphere.

Jake let his head fall against your shoulder, letting out a low groan of frustration before reaching for the device. Without pulling away from you, he quickly silenced the call and tossed the phone onto the mattress.

—They couldn’t have picked a worse time… —he muttered with a smirk before refocusing on you.

He pulled you closer, pressing your back against his chest as he resumed his movements. His lips found your neck, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine.

But then the phone rang again.

Jake tensed for a moment before letting out an annoyed sigh.

—Give me a second… —he murmured irritably.

Still holding onto you, he grabbed the phone and accepted the call. Before speaking, he leaned down, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered in a teasing tone:

—Be quiet for me, okay, pretty girl?

You nodded quickly, biting your lip to suppress any sound.

—Ni-ki? —he answered, his voice still rough.

He tried to focus on the conversation, but right then, his hips moved involuntarily, and the pleasure that coursed through your body was too much to suppress. A muffled moan escaped your lips before you could stop it, forcing you to slap a hand over your mouth.

Too late.

—What the fuck, Jake?! —Niki’s voice rang out, clearly horrified—. Don’t tell me you’re fucking your girlfriend while talking to me! That’s fucking disgusting, dude!

Jake let out a deep chuckle, still holding you firmly against him.

—I'll call you later —he said casually, hanging up without a second thought.

He tossed the phone aside, his hands immediately returning to you, roaming your body possessively before leaning down to kiss your neck again.

—Now… where were we?

The suggestive tone in his voice and the way his fingers tightened around you made it clear—he had no intention of letting you go anytime soon.

Sunghoon☆

You had made plans to have lunch with Sunghoon, Jake, and Jay at a restaurant near the company after they finished their rehearsal. Everything seemed normal as you walked to the place, joking and chatting about random things.

Once seated, each of you ordered your food, and the conversation flowed naturally while you waited. But then, out of nowhere, you felt a warm hand rest on your knee.

Your body tensed immediately. You turned your head toward Sunghoon, giving him a warning look, but he remained as nonchalant as ever, carrying on with the conversation as if nothing was happening. His fingers started moving slowly, tracing light circles on your skin.

You tried to ignore him, forcing yourself to focus on the conversation, but the heat from his palm was impossible to disregard. And just when you thought he might stop, his hand began creeping higher, sliding up your thigh at an agonizingly slow pace.

A shiver ran down your spine. Your breathing grew heavier as his fingers grazed the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, so dangerously close to your underwear that every little touch made you hold your breath.

Discreetly, you caught his wrist in an attempt to stop him, but Sunghoon only pressed further, his fingers slipping between your legs with excruciating slowness.

The first direct touch had you biting your lips to keep quiet.

His caresses were soft but torturous, teasing you mercilessly as you struggled to keep a straight face in front of the others.

Just then, the food arrived. You sighed in relief, thinking that he would finally stop, but you were wrong. His hand didn’t move away—if anything, his touch became even more persistent.

You felt his fingers toying with the thin fabric of your underwear before effortlessly slipping beneath it.

Your back arched slightly, and on instinct, you gripped his wrist more firmly, silently begging him to stop. But Sunghoon only smirked in satisfaction, clearly enjoying the way your body reacted to him without anyone noticing.

Small, restrained gasps caught in your throat, and when your thighs tried to clamp shut, he simply nudged them apart again, his fingers growing bolder in their exploration.

And then, out of nowhere, a sudden jolt brought everything to a halt.

Sunghoon stiffened instantly, pulling his hand away in an instant. He frowned and looked up to see who had interrupted him.

Jake.

The blond was staring at him, his expression neutral, but his slightly furrowed brows made his disapproval clear. Sunghoon shifted uncomfortably in his seat, cleared his throat, and without saying a word, picked up his chopsticks and started eating as if nothing had happened.

You did the same, though your heart was still pounding, and the heat in your cheeks was impossible to hide.

Jay, completely oblivious to the situation, narrowed his eyes at the two of you.

—What the hell is up with you two? —he asked suspiciously.

No one answered. Sunghoon focused on his food, you avoided eye contact, and Jake smirked slightly, clearly satisfied with his intervention.

Jay let out a sigh, still confused.

Sunoo☆

For Sunoo, getting caught in the act was all part of the plan.

He had spent weeks listening to the guys tease him about how sweet and innocent he was, how unlikely it was for him to be with a girl. At first, he laughed it off, but over time, it started to wear on him. Did they really think he wasn’t capable of making someone feel good?

It was time to prove them wrong. And who better to help him do that than you—his best friend?

No words were needed. Just a single moment of tension, a look filled with intent, and the briefest touch before his lips crashed onto yours in a hungry, heated kiss—like you had both been waiting for this moment all along.

Before you could even process it, you were lying on the couch in the living room, Sunoo hovering over you, his body pressing against yours with the perfect mix of softness and urgency. He knew the guys would be back any minute, but rather than worry, the thought only seemed to excite him more.

His lips trailed down to your neck, leaving warm, open-mouthed kisses as his hands roamed freely.

—God… you’re so perfect —he murmured against your lips, his voice husky with desire.

One of his hands slid up to cup your breast gently, while the other trailed lower, fingertips tracing along your stomach before slipping between your thighs. With practiced ease, he found the hem of your underwear and, without breaking his rhythm, slid it down your legs before stuffing it into the pocket of his pants with a smug smile.

The first touch of his fingers against your bare skin made you arch your back. He moved with such confidence, such precision, that you couldn’t hold back a breathy sigh. Sunoo seemed to revel in your every reaction, his lips grazing your skin, leaving faint marks as he went.

And just as the tension reached its peak…

The door swung open.

The sudden sound snapped both of you out of the moment. Your heads turned simultaneously toward the entrance, where the guys stood frozen in place, eyes wide with shock, their faces a mixture of confusion and disbelief.

The room fell into complete silence.

But Sunoo didn’t even flinch.

With the utmost composure, he stood up without letting go of you and effortlessly scooped you into his arms. Turning to the stunned group, he flashed a radiant smile, clearly enjoying the effect his little stunt had caused.

—Oh wow, guys… didn’t expect you back so soon —he said, his tone laced with amusement—. Don’t worry, we’ll make sure to lock the door this time.

He shot them a playful wink before chuckling softly and carrying you off to his room, leaving them standing in stunned silence in the middle of the living room.

Mission accomplished.

Jungwon☆

The boys were just about to go on stage, each of them finishing up their preparations before the big moment. The backstage was pure chaos—stylists rushing back and forth, crew members making last-minute adjustments, and the deafening sound of the audience filling the air.

Amidst all the commotion, Jungwon suddenly appeared out of nowhere, grabbing your wrist and quickly pulling you into the dressing room. The door clicked shut behind him, and before you could even ask what was going on, his body was already pressing yours against the wall.

—Baby, I need you… —his voice was low and breathless, his eyes burning with desire.

You looked at him in confusion until your gaze dropped down—and suddenly, you understood.

—Wonnie… you have to be on stage in seven minutes —you whispered, trying to ignore the sudden heat pooling in your stomach.

He gave you a half-smirk, his fingers trailing softly down your waist.

—That’s exactly how long I need for you to help me with this —he murmured, leaning in just enough for his lips to brush against yours.

A shiver ran down your spine. You knew you shouldn’t be doing this here—not with so many people outside, not with so little time—but the way his body reacted to yours, the desperation in his eyes, the slight tremble in his breath… you couldn’t resist.

You dropped to your knees, your pulse pounding in your ears as your fingers worked quickly to undo his belt. Jungwon let out a shaky sigh as your hands wrapped around him, his body tensing at the first touch.

His fingers tangled in your hair, guiding your movements with barely restrained need.

—God… just like that… —he groaned softly, biting his lip to keep quiet.

His grip tightened slightly, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. Every sound that slipped past his lips sent waves of heat through your body, making you revel in the way he melted under your touch.

But then, the door suddenly swung open, shattering the moment.

—What the hell is going on here?!

Sunghoon’s firm, exasperated voice made you freeze instantly. Jungwon let out a frustrated grunt and quickly pulled away, fumbling to fix his clothes.

Sunghoon stared at the two of you, a mix of disbelief and irritation on his face.

—We’re about to go on stage, get dressed already, idiot —he huffed, crossing his arms.

Jungwon let out a heavy sigh, still trying to steady his breathing. Before leaving, he leaned in close to you, his lips brushing your ear as he murmured with a playful pout:

—Promise me you’ll take care of me later… I want more.

And with one last look filled with silent promises, he followed Sunghoon out, leaving you standing there, heart racing and body still burning, knowing this wasn’t over.

Ni-ki☆

It seemed like Jake had only one mission: to make Niki jealous by shamelessly flirting with you.

He spent the entire afternoon showering you with sweet compliments, winking at you, and cracking jokes that made you laugh—all while Niki watched from a distance, his frown deepening and his jaw tightening more and more.

At first, he tried to ignore it. But when he saw Jake leaning in too close, his arm brushing against yours with far too much confidence, his patience finally snapped.

Without a word, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you into his room, slamming the door shut behind him.

—Why the hell are you letting Jake flirt with you like that?! —he blurted out, his voice filled with frustration.

—Niki, oh my God, it’s not even tha—

Your words never made it out. Before you could finish, his lips crashed onto yours with overwhelming urgency.

This wasn’t a soft, playful kiss like usual. It was hungry, possessive, as if he needed to make it clear once and for all that you were his.

His hands roamed your body with desperation, gripping your waist before sliding down to squeeze your hips, pulling you even closer against him. You let out a quiet gasp against his lips, which only seemed to ignite him further.

—Tell me I’m the only one for you —he murmured breathlessly, his warm breath fanning against your lips.

His hand slipped under your shirt, trailing up your skin until it reached your chest, his grip firm yet teasing.

—Of course, you’re the only one for me, Niki —you whispered without hesitation.

The kiss deepened instantly, growing more desperate, more consuming… until the door swung open.

—Oh, for God’s sake —Sunoo’s voice broke the moment—. I came to check if you were okay after Jake’s little joke, but I see you’re being very well taken care of… so I’ll just leave.

He rolled his eyes with an amused chuckle before shutting the door behind him, leaving both of you breathless and flushed.

Niki let out a frustrated sigh, resting his forehead against your shoulder.

—Great… exactly what I needed.

But when he looked back at you, his eyes told a different story.

This wasn’t over.

[theonottsbxtch]

ANXIETY | CL16

an: this was a request by @iimplicitt, it's based off of the song by doechii and i had so much fun with this and so did she when i was writing it and she was watching me live.

warning: stalking, (not good for those with schizophrenia or ocd)

wc: 3.8k

SHE FELT IT AGAIN.

That unshakable, skin-crawling sensation creeping up her spine, settling like cold hands at the nape of her neck. The bus was crowded—no shortage of strangers pressed too close, their breaths and whispers mingling in the stagnant air—but this was different. Singular. Specific.

Her fingers clenched the strap of her bag as she forced herself to breathe in slow, deliberate counts.

One. Two. Three.

It wasn’t real. Couldn’t be real.

She told her therapist last week—again—that she felt watched. That every room she entered held an extra pair of eyes, just out of sight. Dr. Rodgriguez had smiled gently, her voice syrup-smooth, and suggested grounding techniques. "Anxiety distorts reality," she’d said. "Your mind is crafting threats where there are none."

But what if it wasn’t?

She stepped off the bus into the drizzle, the sky a dull bruise above her. The city’s pulse carried on as normal—traffic groaning, conversations bleeding into one another—but beneath it all, she swore she could hear it. The sound of her own existence being observed.

She was losing her mind.

Charles, her ever charming coworker, was already waiting at the office when she arrived, his usual cup of coffee in hand, his usual easy smile in place. The small acts of kindness never failed to relieve her on those days where she was sure someone was watching her.

“You look tired,” he remarked, eyes flicking over her face with something she couldn’t quite place.

She forced a laugh, her grip tightening on her bag. “Didn’t sleep well.”

She didn’t add why.

She didn’t say that last night, she had woken up to the feeling of breath on her cheek—only to find her bedroom window, which she swore she had locked, standing slightly ajar.

She spent the morning drowning in emails, half-reading sentences that tangled and blurred. The office hummed with its usual monotony—phones ringing, keyboards clattering, conversations low and murmuring. But beneath it all, she could still feel it. That weight. That presence. Like something crouching just outside her field of vision.

Charles worked across from her, as he always did. A steady, unbothered rhythm. He had a way of making himself comfortable in spaces, like he belonged there, like he belonged anywhere.

Unlike her.

She twisted the ring on her finger—an old habit, skin raw from the constant friction. Her breath felt thin in her chest. She was losing it.

At lunch, she stepped outside for air, the city slick with fresh rain, neon signs bleeding colour onto the pavement. She pressed her back against the cold brick of the building and pulled out her phone.

Missed call: Dr RodriguezVoicemail (1:32 minutes)

Her thumb hovered over the play button.

Her reflection in the screen stared back—pale, exhausted, the dark smudges under her eyes betraying the war she was losing with sleep. A shadow shifted in the glass. Behind her.

She spun, pulse lurching—

Nothing.

Just a man lighting a cigarette. A couple laughing as they walked by. A row of windows, half-covered with blinds, office workers moving in faceless silhouettes.

She exhaled sharply, a bitter taste rising in her throat.

The voicemail could wait.

When she returned to her desk, Charles glanced up. His gaze lingered for a second too long.

“You alright?”

Her skin prickled. “Yeah. Fine.”

His lips twitched—something like amusement, or maybe curiosity. “Liar.”

She let out a breathless laugh, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

Because later, when she went home and locked the door behind her—checked it twice, three times, pressed her palm flat against the wood just to be sure—she found something strange.

Her bedside lamp was on.

She was sure she’d turned it off that morning. Positive.

And on her pillow, right where her head would rest—

A single red thread.

She stared at it, breath frozen in her throat. It was nothing. Had to be nothing.

But still, she didn’t sleep.

Not even when the exhaustion weighed heavy behind her eyes. Not even when the wind rattled the window, whispering secrets into the night.

Somewhere, in the dark space between awake and dreaming, she thought she heard something.

A breath.

Or maybe—

A laugh.

The night stretched long and thin, stitched together with half-dreams and the restless shifting of sheets. She lay still, spine pressed to the mattress, listening to the house breathe.

The radiator groaned. The pipes whispered. The walls held their silence.

But something else lingered in the quiet. A weight in the air, thick and cloying, curling like smoke around the edges of her perception.

She stared at the ceiling, tracing cracks that bloomed like veins.

Had those always been there?

The red thread still sat on her pillow, untouched. A pinprick of colour in the dim glow of her bedside lamp. A thread, a thread, a thread—what did it mean? Had it fallen from her coat? Had she brought it in with her, unknowingly?

Or had it been left?

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to sit up. Her limbs felt like lead. She hadn't eaten. Hadn’t slept properly in weeks. Maybe this was it—maybe this was where the mind unraveled, thread by thread, until nothing was left but loose ends.

By morning, she was still awake.

Still breathing. Still whole.

But something had shifted.

On the way to work, the world felt sharper. The footsteps behind her landed too precisely, too in sync with her own. The reflections in shop windows seemed delayed, moving a fraction of a second too late, as if something was pretending to be her shadow but hadn't quite learned the rhythm.

Inside the office, the air smelled sterile—paper and coffee and something metallic underneath. She took her seat. Logged in. Tried to exist like a normal person.

But Charles was watching her.

Not obviously. Not overtly.

But in the way his fingers hovered too long over his keyboard before he typed. In the way his head tilted, just slightly, when she wasn’t looking.

She wondered what he saw when he looked at her.

Did she look different? Changed?

Did he see the exhaustion pressed deep into the hollows of her face? The way she flinched when someone walked too close?

Or did he see something else entirely?

“Long night?” His voice was smooth, threading into the static hum of the office.

She forced a smile, brittle and thin. “Something like that.”

Charles leaned back in his chair, stretching lazily. “You should sleep more. Bad things happen when you don’t.”

Her heart stammered against her ribs.

It was nothing. Just a comment.

But then he smiled.

And she could have sworn—sworn on everything, on her bones, on her breath—that there was something lurking beneath it.

Something that knew.

She spent the morning in a daze, thoughts tangled like static-wrapped wires, her body running on muscle memory. Click. Type. Scroll. Blink.

She was here, but she wasn’t here.

Her skin felt stretched too tight over her bones, her nerves pulled like violin strings, ready to snap. She couldn’t shake the sensation of movement in her periphery—shapes that flickered and disappeared the second she turned to look.

At some point, she found herself gripping her coffee cup too hard, fingers white-knuckled around the paper rim. She hadn’t even taken a sip.

Then—

A touch.

Light. Fleeting. A simple press of fingers against her shoulder.

But it was wrong.

Too sudden, too unexpected, too much.

She flinched so violently the coffee lurched from her hands, a dark flood spilling down her front, scalding against her skin.

“Shit.” Her breath hitched. The world tilted, heat and embarrassment crawling up her neck like vines.

A chuckle. Low. Smooth.

Charles.

She barely registered him moving before he was already there, grabbing a handful of napkins from her desk, his hands careful as he pressed them against the fabric of her blouse.

“Easy,” he murmured, dabbing at the mess. “You’re jumpy today.”

Jumpy. Jumpy. Like a rabbit caught in the open, trembling under the weight of unseen eyes.

She swallowed, tried to laugh it off. “Didn’t hear you walk up.”

“Didn’t mean to scare you.” His lips curled, but there was something unreadable in his gaze. “Here, let me—”

He shrugged off his suit jacket, offering it to her. She hesitated, but the damp chill of coffee clinging to her skin made the decision for her.

“Thanks,” she muttered, slipping it over her shoulders.

And then—

Something stopped her.

Something small. Insignificant.

Something that shouldn’t have meant anything at all.

The lining of his jacket.

Red.

The exact same shade as the thread on her pillow.

The world shuddered around her, sound fading into a distant hum. Her fingers twitched against the fabric, stomach twisting into something ugly, something sharp.

Coincidence. It was a coincidence.

Wasn’t it?

She forced herself to move, to breathe, to exist like a normal person.

“Better?” Charles asked, tilting his head slightly.

She nodded. Swallowed the unease sticking to the back of her throat. “Yeah. Thanks.”

She turned away too quickly, focusing on her phone as she unlocked it with shaking hands.

Me: Hi, Dr. Rodriguez. Can I book an urgent appointment? Please.

The message sent.

Her pulse thundered beneath her skin.

She wasn’t crazy.

She wasn’t.

But then why did she feel like the walls were closing in?

And why, when she glanced up, was Charles still watching her?

Smiling.

Like he knew something she didn’t.

She was at Dr. Rodriguez’s office by 5. The office smelled like lavender and something sterile underneath. A candle burned low on the desk, its wax pooled like melted bone.

She sat curled in the chair, wringing her hands in her lap. The fabric of Charles’ jacket - wait no, her own jacket - felt heavier than it should.

“I just feel… like I’m falling out of myself,” she said finally, voice fraying at the edges. “Like I’m in my body, but not in my body. Like something else is watching through my eyes.”

Dr Rodriguez hummed, scribbling something down. “You’ve mentioned before that your anxiety manifests as hyper-vigilance. Do you feel unsafe?” 

Yes.

No.

Both.

She liked her lips. “I- I keep finding things.”

Dr. Rodriguez looked up. “Things?”

“Threads,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “Red ones. In places they shouldn’t be. My room, my pillow, my clothes.”

She expected Dr. Rodriguez’s expression to shift - concern, curiosity, something - but she only nodded. As if this were expected. As if she were predictable.

“Anxiety has a way of creating patterns where there are none. The brain seeks familiarity, even in chaos. It’s why we see faces in clouds, shapes in shadows.”

A pause. A careful glance.

“I’m going to prescribe you something. A low dose anti-anxiety medication. It should help take the edge off.”

She stared. “That’s it?”

“You’re exhausted,” Dr. Rodriguez said, her voice kind but firm. “Your mind is playing tricks on you. Get some rest. Take the medication. I promise, things will feel clearer soon.”

She wanted to believe her.

She really did.

When she got home, her body moved on autopilot. Kicked off her shoes. Shed her coat. Pressed her fingers against the lock on the door, just to make sure. 

Her bedroom was the same as she had left it. No signs of intrusion- there never was. No misplaced objects - except for the single red thread lying on the floor beside her bed.

She saw it.

She left it.

If she ignored it, it wouldn’t mean anything.

Maybe it would stop existing altogether.

She swallowed the first dose of the medication with a sip of water, barely tasting it. Lay down. Stared at the ceiling until sleep finally dragged her under.

________________________________________________________________________

The following morning the office smelled like paper and burnt coffee, the usual hum of keyboards and distant chatter wrapping around her in something close to normalcy.

Until she reached her desk.

And stopped breathing.

Bundles.

Neat, deliberate bundles of red threads sat in a perfect row across her desk.

Knotted. Tied. Arranged like little offerings.

Her vision blurred. The office warped and swayed around her. The walls stretched, bending toward her like hungry things.

A gasp caught in her throat, sharp and strangled.

“He’s here.”

Her own voice. But distant, warped, broken.

Louder now-

“He’s here.”

She was shaking, hands white-knuckled at her sides. The air felt thick, pressing in, suffocating.

People turned. Stared. The office held its breath.

Then-

Arms wrapped around her.

Too tight. Too sudden.

Charles.

His voice was a low murmur against her ear. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. Breathe. You’re safe.”

Her blood turned electric. She thrashed against him.

“Get off me!”

He pulled back immediately, hands raised in surrender. Confusion flickered across his face.

“What?”

She stumbled backward, chest heaving, her heart a live animal clawing at her ribs.

“I-” her throat closed up. Everyone was watching her. Eyes wide. Concerned.

The bundles of thread sat silently on her desk. Mocking her. 

Charles was still staring at her, brows drawn together, lips parted like he was about to say something but had no idea what.

And all she could think was—

What if he didn’t put them there?

Then who did?

The walls loomed closer. The room pulsed like a living thing.

She needed to get out.

Now.

The office was a blur.

A mess of wide eyes and half-formed whispers. The air was thick. Too thick, pressing against her ribs like it was trying to crack it open. 

Charles stood there frozen, hands still raised from when she’d pushed him away.

“What the fuck?” His voice was sharp but confused, eyebrows drawn together like he was trying to piece together a puzzle that didn't make sense. 

Her breath hitched in her throat. She took another step back. “Leave me alone.”

His expression flickered—something like hurt, quickly masked by disbelief. “I am leaving you alone. What’s going on?”

The room swayed. 

“The thread,” she whispered, voice cracking. “It’s the same.” 

Charles blinked, his confusion deepening. “The what? The same as what?!”

“The thread!” She was shouting now, wild, frantic, barely recognising the sound of her own voice. “The red thread—on my pillow, on my floor—on my desk! It’s yours, I know it’s yours!”

Her colleagues shifted uncomfortably, a few exchanging glances.

Charles exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He turned toward the others, an almost pleading look on his face. “I don’t know what she’s on about.”

She grabbed at her temples, squeezing her eyes shut against the sudden ache drilling into her skull.

“You’re lying,” she whispered, voice trembling. “You— you have to be. It’s the same colour as your suit jacket!”

Charles hesitated. Then, in one slow, deliberate motion, he reached for the edge of his suit jacket.

“You mean this?”

He lifted it, exposing the lining.

She braced herself. She knew what she’d see.

But—

Navy.

Not red. Not even close.

A deep, unremarkable navy.

“The thread of all my clothes is navy,” Charles said, his voice careful now, like he was speaking to a wild animal. “My family colours. Always has been.”

No.

No, no, no, no, no.

Her knees gave out. The floor slammed into her, cold and merciless. The room stretched, warped, swallowed itself whole.

It wasn’t possible.

She’d seen it. She knew.

Hadn’t she?

Somewhere, distantly, she could hear people talking. Someone kneeling beside her. A hand on her shoulder. But it all blurred into static, white noise flooding her ears.

The threads.

The threads were real.

Weren’t they?

Her lungs stuttered, breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps.

Something was wrong.

Something was watching her.

And now—

Now she had no idea what was real anymore.

She couldn’t breathe.

Her chest heaved, lungs burning, but the air wasn’t getting in. The walls were too close, pressing in, suffocating. The voices around her blurred, merging into an indistinct hum.

Someone said her name.

Her hands curled into fists against the carpet.

This isn’t real. This isn’t real. This isn’t real.

But it was. It had to be.

The thread. The thread was real.

So why—why wasn’t anyone else seeing it? Why was Charles standing there, looking at her like she was unraveling at the seams?

She squeezed her eyes shut, a broken sob tearing from her throat.

And then—

A touch.

Gentle. Careful. A hand resting lightly on her shoulder.

She flinched.

“Hey.”

Charles.

His voice was softer now, cautious, like he was afraid she might shatter if he spoke too loudly.

She blinked up at him, her vision warped with tears. His face hovered above her, blurred and unreadable.

“I—” Her voice failed her. Her entire body trembled, her limbs useless, her breath stuttering between sobs.

He hesitated. Then, slowly, he crouched beside her, his hand still resting on her shoulder—warm, grounding, real.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” he admitted, voice low, steady. “But I think you need to breathe.”

She shook her head, curling in on herself. “I can’t.”

She felt him shift closer. Felt the warmth of him, steady against the cold creeping under her skin.

“Yeah, you can.” His hand traced slow circles against her back, a careful reassurance. “Just follow me, okay? In—” He inhaled, deep and slow. “And out.”

Her breath hitched.

Charles exhaled, patient.

“In—”

She tried. Gasped. Stumbled.

“Good girl,” he murmured. “Again.”

She did. A little steadier this time. Her fingers dug into the fabric of his sleeve, gripping onto something solid.

Somewhere in the fog of her mind, she knew this was wrong.

She shouldn’t be letting him touch her. She shouldn’t be folding into him like this, shouldn’t be shaking against his chest like a wounded thing.

But he was there.

Holding her up when everything else was slipping away.

So she let herself break.

She pressed her forehead into his shoulder, her tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt, her body wracked with silent sobs.

Charles stilled.

Then, carefully, he wrapped his arms around her.

Not too tight. Not suffocating. Just… holding.

“It’s okay,” he murmured against her hair. “You’re okay.”

She wasn’t.

She wasn’t.

But right now, with his arms around her, she could almost pretend.

Almost.

The office buzzed around them, a distant, faraway thing. She barely registered the murmurs, the hesitant shuffling of her colleagues. Someone asked if they should call someone. Someone else asked if she needed water.

She didn’t answer.

She couldn’t.

All she could do was cling to Charles, her fingers still fisted in his sleeve, her body betraying her, seeking warmth in the one person she shouldn’t trust. Or could she? He was her coworker - he hasn’t done anything wrong or had he? 

He didn’t push her away.

Didn’t rush her.

Just held her, quiet and patient, his breath steady against her hair.

“You’re okay,” he murmured again, and for one stupid, fleeting moment, she almost believed him.

Then—

A shift. A presence.

Someone—one of her colleagues—was stepping forward, hesitant. “Hey, maybe we should—”

Charles cut them off. “She needs space.” His voice was firm, edged with authority. “Let’s not overwhelm her.”

The others hesitated, exchanging uneasy glances.

“She should go home,” someone muttered.

“She shouldn’t be alone,” another whispered.

Charles exhaled through his nose. “I’ll take her.”

The words barely registered. She was still drowning, still struggling to piece reality back together.

Then his fingers brushed against hers, a silent request.

“Let me take you home,” he said gently. “You need to rest.”

She should have said no.

She should have.

But the world was tilting, her thoughts unraveling at the edges, and Charles was the only solid thing left to hold onto.

So she nodded.

The journey to her flat was slow, every streetlight flickering past like a ghost of normalcy. Her head was a fog, thoughts slipping in and out like trying to catch smoke with her bare hands. She couldn’t keep track of time, couldn’t feel the cold or the warmth—just the distant hum of the car engine and Charles’ quiet presence beside her.

When they arrived, he didn’t immediately leave. He stayed by her side, guiding her up the stairs with gentle hands, his movements smooth, reassuring.

“You should rest,” he murmured, voice soft but insistent, leading her into her flat like a caretaker, like someone who belonged here.

Everything felt too calm.

Too... right.

The flat smelled of tea and the faint scent of lavender, warm and inviting. Charles wasted no time. He pushed her to sit on the couch, draped a blanket over her shoulders.

“Just stay here for a moment,” he said, almost lovingly. “I’ll make you something.”

She nodded, too tired to argue.

The sound of the kettle boiling, the clink of cups, the soft shuffle of his footsteps. He was so attentive, so gentle. The care in his touch felt almost safe—and that was the problem.

She should have known better.

Her eyes fluttered shut, the exhaustion taking over. She barely registered him moving behind her, gathering her hair gently. The soft brush of his hands against her neck.

Then—

A knot.

A pull of fabric.

She blinked, confused. Her heart skipped a beat.

Something was wrong.

She couldn’t quite place it. But the way he was tying her hair—his fingers moving with a precision that felt… too familiar—too careful—

There it was again.

The thread.

The red thread.

She caught a glimpse of it, bright against the dark strands of her hair. Her pulse quickened. Her stomach lurched.

No.

Not again.

Her breath grew shallow. Red. The thread was red.

No.

She stood up, her vision spinning as she backed away, shaking her head. “No, no, no—”

Charles was still standing there, an almost serene expression on his face as he finished securing the knot. “There, all done. You’ll feel better now.”

But her mind was spiraling. She could feel her chest tightening. Her hands were clammy.

“I—I told you, I don’t want this. I don’t—” Her voice cracked. “The thread, Charles. The red thread—it’s the same.”

Charles blinked, his brow furrowing as he took a step closer, his voice soft. “It’s just thread, love. Nothing to worry about.”

But she wasn’t listening anymore. Her heart was racing in her chest, the world narrowing until there was only him—only Charles, standing there with the red thread, with the calm, reassuring look in his eyes.

Her legs buckled beneath her, the room spinning. Her body betrayed her, forcing her to collapse back onto the couch. She gasped for air, clutching her chest as if the pressure was crushing her.

Charles was beside her instantly, lifting her up, his hands warm and gentle as he helped her settle back against the cushions.

“There we go,” he murmured, voice soothing, steady. “You’re safe now.”

The tea. The thread. His presence.

The weight of it all pressed against her, dulling her senses, pulling her under like quicksand.

She blinked up at him, her vision growing hazy. “I— I don’t feel…”

“I know,” Charles said quietly, brushing a lock of hair away from her face. “You’re tired. You need rest. I told you I’d take care of you. Like I always have.”

And before she could protest, before she could make sense of the words or the thoughts crowding her mind, everything went black.

the end.

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